


Wake the Narnians

by Phasingphoenix



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4383212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phasingphoenix/pseuds/Phasingphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four kings and queens face a new war, and once more the horizons of their imaginations must be broadened. An evil king and a surprise army prove to be quite the match for them, which leaves the captain of the guard to make sure the kings don't push themselves too far.</p>
<p>Originally posted on fanfiction.net, utilizes (with permission) elements in elektrum's version of the universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arriving at the Cair

It was the Golden Age of Narnia, when the four kings and queens sat upon the thrones of Cair Paravel and peace sprung eternal. Even some of the Archenlanders from the South had come to live under this impressive reign, and were welcomed.

One of these Archenlanders was a girl named Aisling. She was young, and had been younger still when the monarchs took the thrones. When her family had come north, they had taken up residence quite near the castle, so as to see all they could of these grand people. Because of this, the girl was familiar with the workings of the Cair, having been a troublemaker from the start and sneaked off whenever she got the chance. When she deemed she was old enough, she decided to give her services over to the kings and queens as a guard.

This was a decision she had thought long and hard about. Queen Susan the Gentle lived up to her namesake, of course, but she was in no way unable to defend herself. The subjects had seen her in archery tournaments (not actually eligible for a win, of course) and knew how accurate and determined she could be. Still, she was the queen, and could hardly be expected to face every danger head-on by herself. Kings Peter and Edmund were much the same story, both more than capable of defending themselves, but, again, they were the monarchs. The risk couldn’t be taken. Queen Lucy, on the other hand, was as brave as anyone could possibly be, but if anything at all were to happen to her, the country might never recover. She, above all, needed defending. 

Aisling dearly loved these rulers, for they were kind and fair. The joyous kings and queens of Narnia, as they were known, and a better description she had yet to find. If she could use her talents with sword and bow to repay them for all they did, she would do it. 

Therefore, on one breezy spring day, Aisling made her way to the castle proper. Fauns and other happy creatures laid about on the grass, enjoying the sunshine after winter. There was still a great paranoia for the cold season amongst Narnians, and Aisling had even learned to be paranoid with them, although everyone was collectively getting better about it. 

“Good morn!” called one of the Fauns with a wave.

“And to you,” she said.

“Blessed day!” squeaked a Hedgehog.

“Let us hope,” she replied more quietly.

The castle was not far, and she arrived in little less than an hour, though because of the sun and the amount of walking, she was practically dying of thirst. She said nothing, however, when entering the great hall. Several creatures were there, laying about as a breeze drifted in through the open doors and windows. She’d been to Cair Paravel several times before, and had always loved how open and light it was inside, as though one never left the outside world. 

“Good noon, miss,” said a tall Faun with a green scarf.

She smiled. “Good noon, Mr. Tumnus.” 

“My dear, the weather today is so warm. Won’t you take a drink before you see the kings and queens?” 

“That would be much welcome, thank you.” 

The faun sent for some water, then took her by the arm and led her to stand by the window. “For what have you come to see their highnesses, miss?”

“I would like to see about becoming a part of their guard,” she told him.

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, an honorable pursuit. Are you a skilled swordswoman?”

“I am,” she said with a nod. “My father attended a school in Archenland for boys where he learned to use a sword and other weapons. He had no sons, so when I was old enough, he began to teach me.”

“And Narnia will be glad for it, I’m sure,” Tumnus said happily. “Look now! Here comes your drink. When you’ve finished, you may enter the throne room. The kings and queens should have just finished their break for lunch.” 

Aisling gratefully accepted the goblet and quickly drank her water. Tumnus had left, so without anyone to guide her, she let herself into the throne room (she was quite unaccustomed to seeking an audience with their majesties, and so did not think it odd the the chamberlain had yet to arrive).

The monarchs were hardly in a state of regality. Queen Lucy was seated in Queen Susan’s lap, toying with the elder queen’s hair as she talked. Kings Edmund and Peter were currently engaged in a heated arm wrestling contest. They seemed to not notice the newcomer, which was unsurprising, as Aisling had entered rather quietly. They continued on like this for several minutes. Lucy’s gesticulations grew grander, and Peter seemed to be winning the contest. Aisling became rather enraptured in the goings-on, watching tensely as the arm wrestling approached a draw. Both boys had sweat upon their brows, and Edmund was gaining ground. In another half minute, however, Peter overpowered his younger brother and slammed his hand onto the chair with a great exhalation. 

“Better luck next time, Ed,” he laughed.

“Best two out of three.”

“Oh, no!” Queen Lucy suddenly squealed, her hand flying to her mouth. She had spotted Aisling at the front of the room, and was consequently abashed. “Oh, no, I’m terribly sorry!”

“Will you two drop your shenanigans?” Queen Susan hissed to her brothers, though she needn’t have said anything. The kings were already straightening up in their chairs, hurriedly regaining the appearance of royalty. Lucy quickly danced back to her throne and sat uncomfortably upon the edge.

“We really are terribly sorry,” she repeated.

Aisling, who was only just realizing she was forgetting her own manners, curtsied deeply. “Far be it from me to ask for your apology, your majesty.”

“All the same, we were rude, and even royalty cannot be held unaccountable for that,” Queen Susan said. 

“You - erm - are you Aisling?” King Peter asked, blushing slightly. 

“I am, your highness.”

“And you requested an audience with us, did you? Oh, do stand a bit taller. I can’t talk to you while you’re bowing like that.”

Everyone in the room, it seemed, was still rather new to this. Turning a deep shade of crimson, Aisling straightened up. “I’m sorry, sire.”

“Don’t be, it’s alright.” 

“We get a bit uncomfortable with some of the formalities,” King Edmund explained. “Please, tell us why you’ve come.”

It was here that Aisling began to doubt herself. These kings and queens, while a bit silly, seemed to have everything well in hand. Why should they want a young, inexperienced girl protecting them? But all four had their attention set on her, and her only option was to deliver. “Your highnesses, I wish to be a part of the royal guard.”

Their eyebrows rose, and Aisling reminded herself that she _had_ decided to wear a skirt for the audience, and so would appear a bit more ladylike than usual. Ladies were not particularly prone to joining the guard of anything.

“Why?” Peter asked.

Aisling floundered for a moment. It was difficult to explain the reasons for doing this, especially to the kings and queens. “Because I want to” didn’t seem like a good option, either. She finally settled with, “Because that’s what I’m good at.” 

“That’s quite the endeavor,” Edmund said. “However, I hope you realize that we cannot take you simply because you ask. We have to know you’re capable.”

“I am, sire.”

“We didn’t say you weren’t,” Susan said. “But we do require a certain amount of proof.”

“What she means to say,” Edmund interrupted, wincing at the poor wording, “is that we have to know how good you actually are.”

“So, a duel, then?” Aisling asked seriously. 

The queens and Edmund blinked in surprise, as the question _had_ been a touch challenging. “Well, we generally send people to Captain Celer for such things-”

King Peter let out a laugh. “A duel! I agree completely! How about you, Ed?”

Edmund looked at his brother, seeming to understand Peter’s intentions and determined to avoid that path. “Perhaps with Celer-”

“Celer? Why? You’re perfectly capable, and we won’t even have to send for anyone.”

There it was. The punishment for losing the arm wrestling competition. Aisling raised her eyebrows, surprised that King Peter thought it appropriate to have King Edmund duel a subject. Edmund obviously didn’t think so, and neither did the queens.

“Peter, think of what you’re saying,” Susan pleaded. “This could lead to embarrassment.”

“For whom?” Aisling asked, pride feeling pricked. “My lady, I assure you, if anyone will be embarrassed in this, it will not be me.”

At this, Edmund cocked his head. “So say you, but I’ve yet to see if you possess the talent to back that up.”

“Then by all means, sire; try me.” 

He frowned as Peter laughed. “You are from Archenland, aren’t you? Certain you don’t have any Black Dwarfs in your lineage?” With a shake of his head, he stood and stepped down from his throne. “Very well, I accept your challenge, however indirect it may be. But not here. We’ll take this to the sparring ring like civilized people.”

Aisling felt a rush of fear at that. With the fight taking place outside, Narnians of all sorts would gather to watch. If she lost, she’d be sent home with her dignity in shambles. But Edmund was the king, and his word was law. King Peter was still smiling, and the queens were beginning to mutter about the indignity of it all as they followed Edmund from the room. A Fox entered the room just after they left and nodded at Aisling. “You are to follow me, miss.”

She nodded silently and left with the Fox. Of all the ways she had expected this meeting to go, this had not been on the list. 

She was taken to the armory, where she realized word of the duel had spread like a fire on a tar-soaked rag. The quartermaster, a centaur named Titus, was ready for her. 

“This be your weapon, lady,” he said, handing her a standard, double-edged shortsword. “‘Tis blunted to soften the blow.”

“Will his highness be using Shafelm?” she asked hesitantly.

With a smile, the centaur shook his head. “Nay, King Edmund knows his strengths. He will use a sword like your own.”

She nodded, some of her fears being curbed for the moment. “And this is allowed?”

“If his highness believes so.”

It wasn’t that Aisling doubted her abilities. Her swordplay was not a subject she took to exaggerating, and she did think she had a brilliant teacher. However, fighting a king was far removed from her comfort zone, as she was completely unaware of the proper protocol. What if she injured him? What if he injured her? King Edmund, while not the most gentle of the monarchs, would certainly feel guilt for wounds inflicted on a subject. This was the worst idea she’d ever heard, but it had come from the mouth of the High King, so she supposed it wouldn’t be all bad. 

“Will I be wearing armor?” she asked.

Titus merely held a hardened leather chestpiece and bracers out to her. They were a bit large, but it was as good as could be done on short notice. 

Her heart leaped into her throat when she stepped outside. Narnians already ringed the sparring area, and King Edmund was just arriving. He was dressed in plain clothes and was tying off the laces on his bracers, his expression none too pleased with the situation. Aisling had to remind herself that this was as much her challenge as it was Peter’s, but no one had really gotten much say. 

“Are you prepared to do this?” he asked, giving her a look that said she could reply any way she pleased.

If she declined now, she would never make it into the guard. A defender of the kings and queens had to be prepared for every challenge. “Yes,” she told him.

Of course, a defender of the kings and queens wouldn’t _fight_ them.

He nodded. “Alright. Peter will be our referee.”

“As well he should be.”

Edmund smiled slightly at that, then brought his sword up to the ready. Aisling mirrored his position, her muscles coiled and ready for the clash. 

“I expect no less than a clean fight,” Peter called, standing upon a wooden crate so all could see and hear. “This duel will reveal the skills Aisling of Archenland possesses, and we will know by the end if she may be allowed a position in Their Majesties’ Royal Guard. King Edmund, are you at the ready?”

The Just King nodded tersely, never taking his eyes from the girl in front of him.

“Aisling of Archenland, are you at the ready?”

“Yes, sire.”

Peter held a hand up to the sun, then brought it swiftly down. “Begin!”

Neither participant struck in the first few moments. Aisling was waiting to let the king strike first, but he only circled and watched. Sweat was already beading on her forehead because she _still_ didn’t know the proper protocol for this. 

_He’s waiting_ , she realized with some amount of surprise. She had happened upon his first battle tactic: let the enemy strike first to see what they have to offer. Now that she had this in mind, she could figure out her first move. He was watching everything, the way she walked, where her eyes were, even the angle at which her sword tilted. Aisling didn’t particularly want to play into his hands, but realized pride was not allowed to be a deciding factor in her attack. She lunged, a basic, easy move that he deflected with hardly a thought. As her sword glanced off of his, however, she used the momentum to bring it round and curve for his shoulder. His careful eyes saw her ploy and he parried that, too, but with a bit more effort. This time, he launched his own attack in retaliation, and suddenly the duel was raging full force without any more preamble.

By the Lion, he was strong! The king was small and slender, and therefore she had assumed he’d use speed to his advantage, but he surprised her. His swings had incredible power behind them, and on more than one occasion, her arms buckled beneath a well-placed strike. The Narnians were all cheering, urging their king to victory. This was in no way disheartening for Aisling, for she could barely register the attacks coming from her opponent as they came, much less the shouting around her. 

In the end, it was her strength that was her downfall. After several minutes of fending off Edmund’s attacks and desperately trying to slip through his defenses, his sword collided with barbaric force against hers. Her arms gave way and, sensing this chink in her proverbial armor, he executed a tight twist and her sword was ripped from her hands. Aisling fell to one knee, her chest heaving.

“King Edmund reigns victorious!” Peter crowed above the resulting din.

Edmund paid them no mind. He stooped and retrieved her fallen sword, then handed it back to her hilt-first. “Give me a week,” he panted. “You’ll soon be on the guard.”

She blinked. “But I didn’t win.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t have to,” he said, turning to leave the ring. 

 

It wasn’t until much later that Aisling realized she had never been meant to win. King Edmund was one of the best swordsmen in all of Narnia, with his brother coming in as a close second. There was no conceivable way that she could have won, and that was as it should have been. Pitting her against such a master forced her to show everything she possibly had, and where she needed to improve. By the end of the week, she received word that she’d been accepted as a member of the guard and was due to begin training immediately. 

It was awfully hard work, her training, but she loved every moment. Fauns, Centaurs, Cats, and Mice comprised the majority of those she trained with, and Oreius or Sir Giles Fox would occasionally come by to give special lessons. Aisling was very good at what she did, and by the end of three years, she had become the Captain of the Royal Guard.


	2. Preparing for a Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, some characters are taken, with permission, from elektrum's Narnians universe. Go read her stuff on fanfiction.net, she's phenomenal

Aisling sprinted towards the queens' chambers, her heart hammering in her throat. Her boots pounded the stone floor as she flew into the rooms. "My lady!"

"Aisling!" Queen Lucy cried, standing atop a gilded storage chest. 

The captain took a moment to take stock of the situation, and when she did, she frowned. "My lady, I don't see the danger."

"You wouldn't!"

"Why did you scream?"

Lucy pointed to a corner not too far away and Aisling's eyes followed. She noticed a large, hairy spider crouched there, trembling just as much as the queen's finger. With a relieved sigh, she sheathed her sword, crossed the room, and knelt, guiding the creature into her open palm. "Your highness, this is no foe. 'Tis a Tarantula of Terebinthia, not of the Fell creatures. He won't harm you, and couldn't if he wanted to."

Lucy visibly relaxed at this, stepping down from her perch and actually blushing slightly. "Oh. Forgive my manners, Mr. Tarantula. I had no idea you'd be coming for a visit."

"For a moment, I thought you were going to squash me, your highness," he replied in a surprisingly deep voice for one his size.

"Oh, I do apologize for that."

"Think not of it, dear lady. I came only to greet you, as I and my family have only just arrived for the High King's birthday tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, of course. And greetings to you and yours, Mr. Tarantula. I do hope you'll forgive my outburst. Shall I save you a place at the High Table?"

The Tarantula chuckled. "While compensation is unnecessary, I doubt my family and I will commandeer much space. I accept your offer, your highness, and impatiently await the celebration."

"As do I, Mr. Tarantula," she said with a curtsy.

The spider offered a strange little bow, flexing every one of his eight hairy legs, then rotated himself in Aisling's hand. "It is time that I return to my wife. Madame, if you would please."

Aisling complied, lowering her hand to the floor so the Tarantula could hop off and scurry away. 

"I am terribly sorry to have bothered you, Captain," Lucy said.

"As he said, my lady," she replied, straightening up. "Think not of it."

"I will say thank you. Had you not arrived, I might have squashed him, and I weep to think of what might have happened then," said the soft-hearted queen.

"It only goes to show that one must never enter the queen's chamber without first being announced," Aisling said. "If nothing more is required of me, your majesty, I must be off. There is yet much to do for your brother's birthday celebration."

"Oh, yes! Do go on, don't let me keep you." 

Aisling gave a bow. "Always a pleasure, your highness." 

The captain exited the room, being mindful of any small creatures who could be underfoot. She continued on the path she had previously been treading before hearing the queen's shout, heading in the direction of the courtyard. 

"You're late," said a rather smug Faun upon her arrival. It was Dasher, Aisling's lieutenant. 

"There was another matter I had to attend. I hope it wasn't a problem," she said, looking around.

"Oh, I think I can handle the Squirrels and Birds for a little while, Captain. They aren't Minotaurs, you know."

"Yes, but Minotaurs can at least be found with relative ease," she replied, straining to catch sight of all the creatures decorating the yard. Several Birds were hanging streamers, while the Squirrels hurried to and fro with decorative little ornaments for the tables. They were quite useful Animals when they had a mind to be, but the guard was required to supervise should their attentions begin to wander, and they most certainly would. 

"Furrow!" Aisling called, and moments later, the largest of the Squirrels scampered up. 

"Captain?"

"Are all of your people accounted for?"

Furrow looked about himself, then nodded. "Aye, marm. Brought ten wi' me today."

"Good. Make sure no one strays inside. I shiver to think what the cooks would do to them if they got in the way."

"Aye, Captain."

Aisling let Furrow return to his work and continued observing the goings-on. Dasher had made his way over to the Birds, and was currently charming the female Robins to death with his sly wit. She grinned, shaking her head and looking away. The Faun could be an absolute ham in the right company. 

When the courtyard was nearly finished, Aisling told Dasher to take charge and left to see if the Dryads had arrived yet. Just one pass through Cair Paravel's halls revealed the extent of the preparations. Not a single Beast nor Faun nor Centaur was saved from the sheer amount of work to be done. A celebration for the High King was a celebration that required every detail to be checked and rechecked. On her way to the entrance, she spotted the Just King warily watching the ceiling of the ballroom.

"Something the matter, your highness?" she asked, stepping towards him.

He glanced at her. "Ah, Captain. Yes, I was actually wondering why that chandelier looks as though it's about to come down.”

Aisling frowned, following his gaze. "Ah. Yes, that's been a bit dodgy since it went up, really." She made a face and leaned over, murmuring, "It was the Bears."

He made a face right back. "Why in Aslan's name would you have the _Bears_ put that up?"

"It was your sister's decision, sire, and the Bears would have been awfully put out if they weren't allowed." 

Edmund sighed. "Right. Well, find the Salamanders, they should be able to fix it. We don't want it coming down on anyone during the party."

"No, sire. I'll see to it immediately."

"Thank you." He moved away, heading for the door, and looked back at Aisling as though asking her to follow. She wordlessly obeyed. "I hear you rescued Queen Lucy from uncertain danger."

She laughed. "Far from uncertain, sire. She was only surprised."

"From what she tells me, she had quite the fright." Edmund smiled to himself, possibly imagining his sister as she told him the story. "Thank you for saving her, however little the danger was. It's good to know our guards take their jobs seriously even in the small encounters."

She bowed her head to hide the blush, smiling. Praise from King Edmund came less often than from the other monarchs, and she always felt a glow inside at his kinds words. 

"So will you finally doff the uniform for the party?" he asked, a gleam in his eye.

She grinned. "I'll doff the uniform, your highness, but I cannot promise you'll like my party clothes any better."

"It's the same outfit, isn't it?"

"No! I at least have that much tact."

"You have buckets of tact, Captain, it's your wardrobe I'm worried about." 

She huffed. "I happen to take a lot of pride in my uniform. Anyway, I always have to be prepared for anything, don't I?"

"You make a fair point, Captain. I must concede."

"For lack of time or argument, my king?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

He grinned. "A bit of both, my guard. Off with you. Don't let me keep you from your duties."

She stopped and bowed, allowing him to walk ahead, then, once again, turned back to her former course. She jogged down the steps in the entrance hall, looking out the wide-open doors. Flower petals were beginning to float inside, heralding the arrival of the glorious Tree Spirits. She waited patiently, then frowned as she heard a noise that was most definitely not a grove of Trees. She had no time to do anything about it, however, for a mighty Oak, a flowing Willow, and a gorgeous Cherry arrived first.

"Welcome," Aisling said, a bit more quickly than was polite. "I plead your forgiveness, but I must postpone pleasantries until-"

"Lady of the Cherry Trees," said a voice from behind. The captain turned to see King Peter at the top of the stairs, smiling down at the new arrivals. Even as he did so, the sound of baying dogs grew louder and far more distinct. Without pausing to think about it, Aisling closed one of the great doors, then seized the first Dog round the neck as he attempted to streak past, effectively blocking all the others. 

"Ho, there! Stay your paws, gents! Did Aslan give you brains or no? Your manners of late have been found sorely wanting!"

This did not cow them in the way Aisling wished, but they did cease charging for the door. "T'ain't our fault, Captain! Parties do excite us so," said the Dog in her arms.

"Not enough, apparently. You were due to arrive yesterday."

"Aye, Captain, and we're sorry," said another. "'Twas a Rabbit found on our path here and we gave merry chase! Time was lost to us."

"Aye, as was the Rabbit!" barked a third, and all were sent into a round of raucous laughter.

"Be that as it may, you're still late," she told them firmly. "For that, you'll have to wait out here until I've finished greeting the Dryads. 

There was a bit of whining from the Dogs, but it couldn't be helped. Aisling disappeared back into the castle and faced the other guests. "My apologies, dear ladies, I-" She stopped, noticing that King Peter already had things well in hand. _Very_ well in hand. He was speaking with the Cherry Tree, bestowing upon her a look of such tenderness and wonder that the other two Spirits were giggling their leaves off. Glad that she had one task removed from her shoulders, Aisling slipped back outside.

"Captain!" came the call from several easily excited Dogs, and she suddenly wondered if she really was any better off.


	3. A Kingly Celebration

" _Not_ party clothes."

Aisling put her hands on her hips. "They are too party clothes." 

King Edmund shook his head. "Don't they have parties in Archenland?"

"I'm sure they do, sire, but I don't live there."

"Correct. You live in Narnia, and in Narnia, we dress properly for celebrations."

She frowned, taking in his own clothes. "You look like you're wearing a dress."

He smirked, knowing he held the upper hand. "Those are not party clothes. I am king and my word is law."

"I will neither admit to that nor will I change." 

"Very well. Be the poor sport of the party." 

Aisling resisted the urge to roll her eyes and followed the king to the front steps, where the High King and two queens had already gathered. 

"My lady," she said, bowing to Queen Susan as she took up her position slightly behind the monarchs.

"Greetings, Captain," said the Gentle Queen. "I had hoped to see you unarmed this eve."

Aisling looked down at the sword on her hip, then back at Susan. "I must always be prepared, my lady, more for your sake than mine."

"On my brother the High King's birthday?" she pleaded.

"Aye, your highness. Especially this day." 

The queen did not seem happy with this response, and Aisling knew she wanted to believe nothing bad could possibly happen on this, a special day, and in this, her wonderful kingdom. Aisling, however, who knew that one should never become too complacent, harbored no doubts for her armaments nor her costume.

"Friends and cousins, one and all!" Susan called to those gathered. "I thank every creature here for coming to this celebration. Today, we honor my brother the High King, and we shall make for him the merriest of birthdays! May Aslan's blessing be upon him and all of Narnia!"

The Animals and others cheered uproariously, their love for their king starkly obvious to any who could see or hear. It was true, Narnians loved to celebrate, and found a reason to throw a party at every turn. They also adored their rulers perhaps more than celebrating. Whenever the time came to mix the two, every Narnian could be counted on to throw the most extravagant of jubilees. 

True to form, Aisling stayed clear of the wine, even as several of her guards did not (including and perhaps especially Dasher). Bacchus attempted to press goblet after goblet of spirits upon her, but she politely declined. For her, wine was an unnecessary component to having a good time. 

Contrary to her belief and much to her pleasure, however, no incident worse than a Porcupine accidentally spiking a Marshwiggle occurred. The High King had a very merry birthday indeed, and the mountain of gifts was so high Aisling suspected he wouldn’t be through them until the next year. The party ran well into the early hours of the morning, after all the young creatures had either been taken home or were sleeping around the various fires still burning. 

“You could have dressed up after all, dear Captain,” said King Edmund with a smile.

“The necessity of preparation does not draw its worth from fruition,” she replied. “If something had happened, I would have been ready.” 

He had a retort perched on the edge of his lips when Queen Susan swept over and Aisling seized her chance to change conversation. “My Gentle lady, how did the party suit you?”

Despite the droop of her eyes, she gave a wide, full smile, the beauty of which could be rivaled by no one. “It suited me very well indeed, Captain. How fares your night?”

“Relatively peaceful, my lady, and well worth the work.”

“Pleased am I to hear that.” She turned to Edmund, then, with a sigh. “Lucy is about to fall asleep where she stands, and I believe Mr. Tumnus is guiding her back to her chambers. _I_ am also longing for the comfort of my bed.”

“Then by all means, Su, don’t keep those blankets waiting,” said the king. 

“If I go, I will leave it to you to get the High King to call it a night,” she said, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “It seems he is intent to let this party go on forever.”

They looked to the High Table set up on the lawn. The original seating arrangement had been abandoned shortly after the feast, and now small Animal children slept in bundles on the table, several tipsy Dwarfs, Hares, and Badgers sat in a cluster at one end, and at the middle, King Peter sat speaking with the Lady of the Cherry Trees. 

“Oh,” Edmund said, an odd note in his voice. “Well, I might as well tell summer to stop coming, mightn’t I?”

“Please do try, brother.”

He waved a hand. “I’ll see to it, sister.” 

Susan thanked him, then bid the king and the captain good night before she mounted the steps and gave the same bidding to all. Peter, Aisling noticed, gave his sister a nod and a wave, then returned his attentions to the Dryad. The captain shook her head, moving off in another direction while Edmund left to chastise his brother. Being weary and full herself, she found her feet taking her in the direction of the castle steps. Several Narnians bid her good night as she passed, and she smiled and returned the courtesy. Her lieutenant, she noticed with some amusement, was already fast asleep, but far from his bed and nearer to his empty goblet. She resolved to give him the threat of extra drills to run in the morning. 

As she mounted the stairs, her eyes cast upward to the starry sky. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the night was not totally clear. A dark cloud hovered in the distance, not far enough for her peace of mind. This was no ordinary thundercloud heralding the arrival of a summer storm. This looked somehow darker, a bad omen appearing at a time when all should be well. Wondering if her tired eyes were playing tricks, or her weary mind was being unusually paranoid, she continued on into the castle and left the cloud for tomorrow.


	4. The Not-Narnian Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kellsalter and the navy were elektrum's idea

"Not quite bushy-tailed this morning, are we, Lieutenant?" Aisling said with a raised eyebrow, watching as Dasher knocked over a set of pikes.

He took a moment to collect himself before answering. "My tail, Captain, is eternally bushy. I put the blame on King Peter's shoulders for my tardiness in joining my bed last night."

"Oh, do you?"

"And if you tell him, I shan't speak to you ever again."

She laughed, moving to leave the armory. "If you train both Dansker and Marti today, perhaps my tongue will stay firmly behind my teeth."

His eyes widened, and she knew his headache had just worsened. "A-aye, Captain," he said, complying anyway.

She smiled. "And here I thought you knew when I was joking, Dash. Take the morning off, you've been working hard this past week."

He returned the smile, his cockiness showing through the relief. "That I have, Captain. I'll see you after a mid-morning lie down."

She left the armory, observing the training grounds in the pale, early morning light. The cloud, she noticed with some discomfort, still lingered. If her eyes didn't deceive her, it was also a might closer, coming from the East. That in itself was concerning, as to the East lay Aslan's Country, and evil from that direction boded no good at all.

"Captain!" 

She turned, seeing Oreius trotting towards her. “King Edmund is making for Kellsalter this day and requests that you join him.”

She gave a slight bow. “Thank you, General. I’ll prepare my horse right away.”

He nodded and was about to turn away when she called him back. “General?” 

“Yes, Captain?”

“As well as leading the army, it is also your duty to watch the skies, is it not?”

His reply was more of a bow than a nod. “Aye, good Captain,” he said solemnly.

She gestured up. “What do you make of that cloud?”

The Centaur’s already heavy brow gathered over his eyes. How he managed to look yet more grim impressed Aisling. “Dark times ahead for Narnia.”

She nodded. “I was afraid you’d say that.” 

. . .

By the time Edmund and Aisling reached Kellsalter, it was late in the day and the mass of clouds had traveled still further. The king had made several comments along the way of what good time they’d been making, still bitter about the first trip taking absolute ages. Only Sir Giles and a few Fauns were with them. When the small party emerged on the port, Aisling let the cloud be forgotten for a moment.

In the few years since King Edmund had commissioned the navy (with the encouragement of King Peter), ships had been built and sailors trained in record time. Fifty vessels rested in the port, some being gifts from Galma, and most having been built by Dwarfs and Dryads. Roughly half the fleet was out practicing maneuvers on one another, and though they were miles out, she could hear the shouting from where she sat upon her horse. 

“The fruits of our labor,” Edmund said proudly, one hand on his hip as he sat tall in the saddle. “What do you think?” 

“Very impressive, sire,” she told him sincerely.

“Narnia truly is ruled by well-prepared monarchs,” said Sir Giles. 

“I thank you for the kind words. Of course, the monarchs weren’t the only ones with a hand in this.”

“No, sire, of course not.”

“What’s that they’re doing now?” Aisling asked.

Edmund peered out over the water and nodded. “Ah, battle training. We’ve mounted ballistae on the decks of the ships. On their own, they can only do damage to the opposing crew, _if_ they’re lucky enough to hit anyone. However, if the bolts are wrapped in flaming rags, there’s a lot more damage to be done. For right now, I believe half the crew of each ship is timing their wrapping, while the other half is running firing drills.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Clever.”

He smirked. “I know.”

Sir Giles began asking questions about the ballistae, inquiring after their speed and accuracy. Aisling continued to watch the drills, admiring how the ships cut through the water and circled each other. There was one vessel curiously off to the side, away from the training activities. She was just about to ask what it was doing when she realized what she was looking at. The sails - and, indeed, the entire ship - were black as pitch, as though no color at all existed. “That’s not Narnian,” she murmured.

“Pardon?” Edmund said.

She looked again at the clouds, which were growing closer all the time. _Dark times ahead for Narnia_. “Sire, I apologize for the commands,” she said, already wheeling her horse about. 

“What?” he said, his confusion giving over to concern.

“Send word to the ships to sail for the Cair. I think we’re about to be attacked.” She didn’t wait for a reply, digging her heels into the horse and bolting back the way they’d come. 

Through the trees, she kept her eye on the sky, and, if it were possible, she would have sworn the darkness was moving even faster than before. That may have been due to the approaching nightfall, but even that was coming too quickly.  
What she found at Cair Paravel was an absolute nightmare. 

The shore, normally tranquil and mostly bare, was flooded with creatures, only a few of which being Narnian. The rest looked… dead. Already dead, with horrid faces and grey, mottled flesh. The black ship stood a fair distance away, and, without any longboats, she wondered if they’d somehow walked from there to here. Many of the guards and soldiers had met them on the beach and initiated battle, but things were not going well. Panic encroaching on her heart, Aisling spurred her horse into a gallop once again and raced straight into the entrance hall of Cair Paravel. The massive doors were closed behind her. 

“What’s happening?”

She looked up the stairs, seeing Queen Lucy gripping the banister and white-faced. Aisling dismounted in one swift motion and sprinted up the staircase. “My lady, come with me.” _They’re going to get in here,_ she thought, taking Lucy’s arm. _They’re going to get through._

Queen Susan was not far away, rushing in as though having followed her sister. Before she could ask the question on her lips, Aisling barked, “My lady, with me.” With swift strides that were not quite a run, she ushered the queens to their chambers and barred the door. “We’re under attack,” she said, crossing the room and shutting all the windows. 

“Attack! By whom?” Queen Susan exclaimed, holding her sister close.

“As yet, we do not know, highness.”

She took a half step forward, never letting go of Lucy. “Then I can help. I’ve fought before, let me get my bow.”  
“And I my dagger!” Lucy said.

“Majesties, if the situation were different, trust that I would let you go out there, but right now believe me when I say it’s better if you stay here.” She stared hard at the queens, hoping her position as guard might give her words some merit.

They didn’t like it, but both ladies eventually conceded. “What must we do, then?” Susan asked.

Aisling peered out the window through the curtains. There was a fine view of the shore from here, though on this evening the view was ravaged by the sight of invaders. Her heart was hammering in her throat and she quite thought she’d be sick. As much as Aisling wanted to be prepared for any situation, she was realizing that never having dealt with this before was a drawback that she couldn’t help. Her mind raced with panic as she wondered just how to defend the queens entrusted to her care. The dark mass of enemies was steadily pushing its way to the castle steps, and soon they would be within its walls. She had to act quickly.

“Into the closet,” she commanded. “Bolt the door.”

“The door doesn’t lock,” Queen Lucy said.

“Bolt it with whatever you can, and no matter what happens, don’t make a sound. Go.” She shooed them in the direction of the large closet, taking up her place in the middle of the room. The queens, smart as they were, let not even so much as the rustling of gowns be heard. When the invaders burst through the door, Aisling was ready for them.

. . .

High King Peter, in the entrance hall of the castle, was much in the same boat.

Shortly after Aisling had fled with the queens, he’d arrived in full battle dress. He’d never known just how quickly he could don his armor until the need arose. Of course, his valet had been a tremendous help, and was now safely tucked away in a corner of the castle. He held his sword at the ready, standing at the front and center of a score and a half of guards and soldiers. Captain Aisling’s second in command, Lieutenant Dasher, was among them. 

“Hold your ground,” he called clearly as the sounds of battle grew closer. “This will not be pretty.”

“It never is, sire,” said Lieutenant Dasher.

If they had gotten a bit more warning, if they were just a bit more prepared, the invaders would never have gotten this far. No one would be _planning_ for them to enter the castle, but they’d broken ranks far more quickly than anyone was prepared for. Now, the goal was to not let them up the stairs. 

In just a few minutes, the doors burst apart with an almighty crash and the fight spilled into the entryway. With a mighty yell that echoed the ferocity of Aslan Himself, Peter led the charge on the enemy. He was internally shocked at their appearance, the dead bodies that still held a good amount of life in the eyes. What in Aslan’s name were these creatures? The normal amount of stabbing didn’t seem enough to bring them down, and they were flooding the entrance. In short order, the Narnians would be overrun.

But then, like the rising of the Sun, there was a host of shouting from the back of the dark ranks and King Edmund broke through, sitting atop Phillip and accompanied by Oreius and a band of other soldiers. The Narnians on the inside of the door allowed themselves a brief cheer before plunging back into the throng. In contrast to the joy, however, a desperate shout arose.

“Sire! The stairs!”

Peter looked, and his heart burst to see a large group of the invaders racing up the steps. Before he could even react, Edmund shouted, “TO ME!” and gave chase. Several soldiers followed suit, leaving Peter to continue with the oncoming horde. 

The creatures had numbers on their side, but the Narnians could be fierce and absolutely deadly when their home was threatened. Slowly and steadily, they won ground and pushed the invaders back to the outside. Now, with more room, the battle spread wide and it was far easier to breathe. Oreius had gone with Edmund up the stairs, and it was up to Peter now to call out commands. 

“Form ranks!” he barked above the din. “Shield wall!”

There was a mad scramble as all available Narnians fell back to form two lines in front of their king, fitting the shields together in a formidable barrier. The creatures were momentarily stymied by this swift regrouping, and in the break in action, a Unicorn charged straight through from behind. 

“Flisk!” Peter shouted joyfully, pulling himself up and sitting bareback. He raised his sword to the sky and bellowed, “CHARGE!”

The first shield wall pressed forward, shoving the invaders back and offering no leeway. It was either run or be killed, and the creatures chose the former, splitting off in every which way back to the shore. One stubborn group, however, took off in the direction of the northwest, as though to circle around the castle and take it from behind. Peter would have none of it. With another rallying cry, he took roughly half his troops and gave chase. 

They ran the enemy down in the apple orchard, engaging in heavy combat. With a surprise jerk, Peter was yanked from the Unicorn and onto the ground. He fought, but there were more creatures here than he realized, or, indeed, should have been. Something was not right about this. Several creatures seized him by the arms, a disgusting hand clamped over his mouth, and they began to drag him away. Before anyone could notice, the rest of the enemy broke formation and sprinted off, with the Narnians in hot pursuit. In the chaos and confusion, no one saw the High King being knocked out and hauled towards the water.


	5. Wayward Kings

When Aisling awoke, she was lying on a large, wonderfully soft bed with a splitting headache and bandages wrapped around her arm. After a moment, she recognized the chamber, then realized she was in a queen’s bed. The sounds of clanking armor and hurried voices could be heard and, with a good deal of effort, she sat up.

Queens Susan and Lucy were at the door, speaking with a few guards outside while others moved up and down the hall. From what Aisling could hear, they were assuring everyone that they were perfectly alright and could someone please get these awful corpses out of their bedroom as well as send someone to find the kings. 

“Captain!” Lucy exclaimed, having just turned and noticed that Aisling was up. “Please, do lie back down. You took a very hard knock to the head.”

“I remember that, so it couldn’t have been that hard,” Aisling grunted, one hand woven in the back of her hair. She had been fighting the small group of creatures that had broken into the room, and one of them had taken the hilt of their curved sword to her head. She’d managed to stay conscious until she was through with all of them, but had collapsed shortly after. The queens must have cared for her in the aftermath, though there had been no use of Queen Lucy’s cordial. In an attempt to make the magical medicine last as long as possible, it was reserved for only the most grievous of wounds. 

“How fares everyone else?” she asked, getting off the bed despite protests. 

“We have yet to receive full word,” Susan said. “Our attackers left only an hour ago, and not everyone has been accounted for.”

She looked up. “The kings…?

“Lieutenant Dasher said he saw Peter in pursuit of a rogue party. They should return soon,” Lucy said quickly. “Edmund was here with us until a quarter of an hour ago.”

Aisling wanted to nod, then thought better of it. So, that was one king safe and sound, and the other was hopefully returning. At least in that respect, the battle hadn’t gone too badly. Obviously Cair Paravel was still standing, and the enemy was gone. All good things. She didn’t ask about the casualties, as no one was cruel enough to give that number to the queens, so with a clumsy bow, she departed in search of more information.

“Captain!” called Dasher, spotting her down at the end of the hall. He took a few steps towards her, then, at her signal, waited for her to come to him. “No one could match you in bravery, sir.”

“Don’t talk to me of bravery,” she said, motioning for him to follow as she walked. “What are our numbers?”

“All things considered, they could be worse,” he said, holding onto her arm as she began to list to the right. “Several Fauns have gone down, as have two Mice and a Badger, but that’s as far as the entrance hall is concerned. We don’t yet have the information from the shore.”

Aisling paused beside the body of one of the invaders. It was hellish, with hardly any other word to describe it so completely. A corpse it was, but a corpse that had been dead long before someone killed it in this battle. They had come so quietly, so quickly. She hadn’t even noticed the ship was there until it was nearly upon them. “What are they?” she asked.

“Nightmares, Captain,” Dasher replied grimly. 

As they neared the entrance hall, there was the sound of clattering hooves. Four Fauns, a Centaur, two Tigers, and three Mice burst through the open doorway, looking panicked. Aisling was about to ask for a report when someone bumped against her, sending her head rattling. King Edmund rushed down the stairs, throwing courtly manners to the wind as he said, “What news?”

“The High King, sire,” said the Centaur, pushing his way to the front. “He’s missing.” 

 

A right panic was close to ensuing after it was found that King Peter was, indeed, missing. However, Edmund and Oreius put a stop to that quick as a wink and began to form plans. In times of trouble, especially times of worst trouble, a good plan served better than anything to calm the nerves. 

It was agreed that Sir Giles Fox and a company of soldiers would track the king on land, while the good ship _Lionheart_ would go in the direction the enemy ship had left. By the accounts of several witnesses, the ship had actually left before the party Peter had been fighting could get away, meaning that they had most likely taken the king to another place to reconcile with the ship. Edmund and Oreius were to stay behind, as there was every reason to believe there would be another attack, and Cair Paravel needed as many leaders as it could manage.

Unfortunately, when it came to matters of family, King Edmund’s judgement could be found sorely wanting.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Aisling asked, pressing the king's door further open.

"I'm getting my brother back," Edmund replied curtly, tossing a set of clothes into a bag. 

"You most certainly are not." She crossed her arms, stepping fully into the room. Her headache had only worsened over the course of the day, and Lion have mercy on the king if he tried to do something foolish.

"Do you dare stop me?" 

She rose to her full height, slightly offended that he'd pull rank on her like this. "I do dare. We've lost one king, sire, forgive me if I'm reluctant to lose the second. Do you doubt us so fully that you think us incapable of saving him?"

He winced, realizing the implications, yet still unwilling to back down. "No, I don't-"

"We _are_ capable, sire. Sir Giles Fox is already preparing to undertake the task, and at most, _I'll_ be sent after him. _You_ must look after the rest of Narnia, because I guarantee they're in more of a panic than you are." 

"He's my _brother_ , Aisling!"

"As he is ours," she argued, effectively shutting him up. "And our father, and our cousin, and whatever else. I see your relationship with him, but do _not_ make the mistake of thinking you care more for him than anyone else. Sir Giles will go. He is preparing a party already. _You_ will be under lock and key until they're gone." 

"Captain!" he said in frustration.

"Not a word, my king. In times such as these, I do have some authority. I think your sisters the queens will agree. If that still does not suffice, I have no qualms about telling General Oreius of your plans."

He shook his head, then sat heavily upon his bed, refusing even to look at her. That was fine. Let him be angry and alive rather than dead. “If you _do_ wish to do something, your highness, I suggest you assist with reinforcing Cair Paravel’s defenses.” Hoping this would be enough, she left him in peace, also hoping that he wouldn’t have her demoted for her conduct.


	6. Down the South

The next morning, one of the Edmund’s valets, Martil, approached Aisling in a panic. "Captain! Captain, the king!"

She closed her eyes. "He left, didn't he?" 

"The bed had not been slept in when I came to open the curtains! Neither of the queens have seen hide nor hair of him, and they are both of them in a state of fright!"

She sighed. "Right. He's several hours ahead of us by now. Tell Sir Giles to follow behind, make camp on the south bank of the Great River, and wait for me there. I'm taking Dasher and we're leaving immediately."

"Why not send the Fox ahead, Captain?"

"Because his highness, stubborn as he is, won't listen to a well-meaning Fox."

"Are you not well-meaning, Captain?" he asked, voice trembling slightly.

She gritted her teeth. "Not at the moment, friend. I'll fetch Dasher. Make sure the kitchens have provisions prepared as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Captain." Martil bowed and scurried away down the hall. Aisling, her fury from the night before rekindled, moved swiftly to the training grounds. Oreius and Dasher were there, observing a young Dryad as she sparred with a Faun. 

“Dasher!” Aisling called.

He turned, then straightened. “Captain.”

She approached, barely managing to address the Centaur with a curt, “General,” before facing her lieutenant. “He did it.”

He sighed, unsurprised. “You said he would.”

“I said he would,” she echoed, already turning away. Without being asked, Dasher began to follow. “General, I doubt I need to ask you to please keep the castle standing while we’re gone.”

The Centaur was, thankfully, less offended by her manners and more concerned for his kings. “I will remain, Captain,” he promised. Aisling knew how much he probably ached inside to go along, to rescue the two Sons of Adam that had grown so dear to him, but she couldn’t risk yet _another_ essential person being lost to the wilds. This way, if she failed to return, the hierarchy would hardly be affected. As a personal guard, her first duty was obviously to the monarchs. 

“I knew he’d do it,” she said again, shaking her head. “I knew it, and I didn’t stop it.”

“Even if you’d tried, he would have gotten out somehow,” Dasher reasoned. 

“But I _should_ have tried.”

“Well, now you have to get him back, so stop worrying about what you didn’t do and start worrying over what you’re about to do.”

She looked at him. “Ever the optimist, aren’t we, Dash?”

He offered a shrug. “Well, you didn’t choose me for my ruggedly good looks, did you?”

The two hurried back to the castle, sometimes breaking into a run, then slowing when they came upon other Narnians. There was no reason to show any sort of panic, and the less anyone felt the need to worry, the better. The very last thing they needed right now was to have the country in chaos with half the monarchy missing. 

Once inside, Aisling commanded Dasher to go to the armory and begin packing. She herself would see to the provisions. She was on her way to the kitchens when she heard her name called by a high, fearful voice.

“Captain! Captain!”

She turned, stopping immediately when she saw Queen Lucy, pale and frightened, hurrying towards her. Queen Susan wasn’t far behind. “Oh, Captain, our brother!”

Aisling gave them both a swift bow. “My ladies, I have already been apprised of the situation and am preparing to remedy it as we speak.”

Susan, able to control herself better than her sister, retained her poise as she said, “He left in the night, Captain, with no word or warning.”

She tried not to show her immense irritation. “Well I know, your majesty.” She noticed Lucy’s eyes welling with tears, and she remembered immediately that the ladies were first and foremost scared for their brothers’ lives, not angry that one should have up and left without so much as a goodbye. This thought helped to focus the captain and soothe her rage. “My queens, Dasher and I plan to track King Edmund wherever he may have gone, then bring him back so that we might save the High King together. If, at any point on the journey, I also have the chance to save King Peter right away, I will take that chance.”

“Oh, do be careful, though,” Susan implored. “We still have so little idea of what new darkness befalls us.”

“You are correct, my lady, and that is why, by your leave, I ask one thing of you.”

The elder queen was solemn indeed as she looked Aisling in the eyes. “Captain, you are setting out on a perilous quest to rescue one or both of my brothers the kings without a second thought. Ask, for it is my wish that you receive.”

Aisling had to digest that for a moment, having not realized just how much she meant to the queens. “Your highnesses, I understand that this will be a trying time like no other. A smile will feel miles away. But I ask that you continue to have hope. In my memory, short as it may be, you fair ladies have had more hope in yourselves than all of Narnia put together. Call on that now, because I cannot bear to think of either of you in despair.”

Queen Lucy then unexpectedly took Aisling by the hand, holding tightly as tears spilled down her cheeks. This sadness of hers tore the captain’s heart in two. Lucy was the most joyful of beings without any contest. If bringing the kings back would at the same time return her smile, Aisling would take on the challenge five times over. 

“This, we will do for you,” Lucy sniffled. “In thanks for all you have ever done, and all you will ever do for us. My only fear is that it is not enough to do.”

Aisling cast her eyes downward. “My lady, I am afraid in the coming days it may be all you can do. But I have borne witness to the strength you carry, and it runs deep. Susan the Gentle and Lucy the Valiant, queens of Narnia and of my heart, it is with great pain that I bid thee farewell and good luck.”

“All of our luck goes with you, Captain,” Susan said, also clasping Aisling’s hands.

Holding her tears in for Lucy’s sake, the captain gave the deepest bow she could muster, then left for the kitchens. In her anger, she had failed to realize just what leaving would mean. Of course, her mind was centered around the lost monarchs, but the two at home she would worry about just as much and miss just as dearly. Once she was well away from any company at all, she leaned into the wall and allowed her tears a moment of freedom before her resolute mask was forced to return.

. . .

Many Narnians had gathered to see Aisling and Dasher off, though not enough to fill the courtyard. Word had been kept as stifled as possible about the quest for now, and the two were leaving only an hour after the decision to leave had been made. Ilana, the Lady of the Cherry Trees, was present, weeping beautiful tears that had not ceased since King Peter was determined missing. Susan and Lucy were at the forefront of the crowd, having successfully dried their tears and become the very vision of hope. 

“We bid you farewell, Captain Aisling and Lieutenant Dasher,” Susan said clearly, head held high. “We hope you will accept our gifts of gratitude before your journey.”

The travellers stepped forth. The queens took the gifts from their ladies-in-waiting, and Susan faced Aisling while Lucy looked to Dasher. “For the captain, I present the Amulet of Lionsight, to help you see in even the darkest of places.”

Aisling bowed low and allowed Susan to place the long chain around her neck. The medallion was moderately heavy, with the image of Aslan carved into both bronze faces. Aisling could not have wished for a better gift, for, aside from its usefulness, the amulet would be a constant reminder that the Great Lion was watching over her. 

“To you, Lieutenant Dasher, I present my own panflute,” Queen Lucy said, her resolve beginning to fail and glistening tears gracing her eyes. “To remind you that the happiest music goes with you everywhere.”

Dasher, hardly ever shaken from his nonchalance, seemed on the very verge of tears himself. He stepped forward, gently accepting the instrument from the queen, and bowed his horned head. “My queen, I will see to it no harm comes to this.”

“See to it no harm comes to yourself, Lieutenant,” she said with a watery smile. Then, she reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Our luck goes with you.”

Queen Susan placed her slender hands on either side of Aisling’s face, then offered her a kiss upon her head. “May the blessings of Aslan be ever upon you as you journey.”

“And upon you as you remain,” the captain replied with a low bow. 

Dasher picked up his stout halberd and slung it across his back, nestling it beside his pack and bedroll. With a heavy heart, Aisling turned away from the Narnians and faced the South. At least this wasn’t to be any madcap plunge into the Wild Lands of the North. She knew the terrain, from the maps, at least. With any luck, she’d find King Edmund before he had a chance to either go into Archenland or sail off into the sea. The latter event was one she was sincerely terrified of facing. Luck, however, had so far not been with her, and in the moment of leaving, she offered up the first of many silent prayers to Aslan.

. . .

“They’re only a few hours old,” Dasher said in reference to some deep footprints in the mud near the Great River. 

“He left only last night.”

“Yes, but nothing else has walked over these tracks yet, and the mud hasn’t completely settled.” The Faun straightened up again, looking around. “We might catch him sooner than we thought.”

“That, good my friend, would be a most welcome development,” Aisling said, patting her lieutenant on the shoulder. They had been following King Edmund’s trail for several hours, finding traces of the vile creatures along with it. After a while, they noticed he’d doubled back in the direction of the castle, and wondered if he’d already returned. Then they found his tracks by the Great River. 

“He must have crossed.” She looked out over the water. Here, it was shallower; a ford. This was one of the widest along the river due to the elevation. A large hill stretched for roughly three quarters of a mile, making this the ideal place for a sizeable group to cross. “Maybe he was still following them.”

“Why would they have come back around?”

“Glass Water is too populated. Someone would have noticed a group of monsters bundling the High King along, and someone would _definitely_ have noticed a large black ship on the horizon. North of Cair Paravel, towards the Marshes, there are far fewer people to see them.”

“Aside from Trees,” Dasher pointed out.

She nodded. “Unfortunately for them, no one can hide very well in Narnia.”

Keeping weapons and supplies elevated, the two waded across the river, the water filling their boots and slowing their progress. Eventually, they came out on the opposite bank where, after a few moments of searching, they discovered the trail once more. 

In about ten minutes, Aisling groaned in irritation.

“Seems our king was a little indecisive last night,” Dasher said, amused.

“He went back to the other side,” she huffed, bundling her things up again.

Across the river they went, hardly noticing the wet this time as they hadn’t even had time to dry. But, about fifteen minutes later, it seemed their efforts had not come to fruition.

“He’s doing this on purpose!” she exclaimed, seeing the tracks lead back into the water.

“Perhaps he was being followed and wanted to throw his pursuers off.”

“If he did this to throw _me_ off, I don’t care if he’s the king, I’ll box him round the ears!” she snapped. “You stay on this side. I’ll go back over and walk along the bank there. If he stayed on that side, I’ll tell you, but if he came back to stay on this side, you let me know and I’ll cross back over here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Aisling waded across a third time, found the trail, and picked it up from there. Again, the tracks led back into the water, but she waited it out this time. Dasher confirmed that the tracks came up again on his side, and then that they led back south. With a groan of frustration, Aisling crossed one last time.

“Do you want to stop for now, Captain?” Dasher asked, irritatingly amused.

“No. I’ll dry faster if we keep walking,” she muttered, stalking past him and into the trees.

“Why didn’t we ask the Trees beforehand?” he asked, following her.

“Because that would have been the smart thing, Dasher, and if you hadn’t noticed, going after that fool of a king makes me the biggest idiot in the world.” 

“But an idiot with a big heart.”

“Don’t patronize me.” 

They continued south, and by the time they reached the place they’d been before doubling back, evening had fallen.


	7. The Smell of Imprisonment

Peter awoke, although if anyone had asked him, he would have said he hadn’t. Wherever he was, it was so dark that he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and it seemed to him that he was continuing to live out a nightmare that had yet to let up. His head ached from the many times his captors saw fit to knock him unconscious, just so he wouldn’t be a bother. Rightly so, for if he had been awake, he would have been the biggest bother imaginable. Years of lessons from Edmund would have seen to that.

With a groan, Peter attempted to stretch, finding that he had room enough to do at least that much. His surroundings suddenly tilted deeply to the left, and that was when he realized that the shifting feeling he’d been experiencing was not due to a concussion.

He was on a ship.

“Oh, Lion help me,” he groaned, sitting back against something hard, probably the hull. It stank down here like nothing else. He was probably in the brig, and, in that brig, among the bilge and waste of the crew. Narnian ships were not built in such a way, but he was aware the ships from the likes of Calormenes and a few from Galma were designed thus. The High King made it a rule then and there that, no matter how tempting, he would not build even prison ships this way.

And why on earth was he on a ship, anyway? He knew the creatures that kidnapped him had come from a ship, one that was dark and quiet as a shadow, but he wondered for what he had even been taken. It was possible that, as he was High King, they were hoping for a ransom, but for some reason, that didn’t sit well with him. These monsters were new and strange to him. They sometimes lashed out at one another, or got lost on a wayward train of what passed for thought in their heads, but at the same time, there was a communal mentality among them. Whether they wanted to or not, they all eventually found themselves moving toward the same goal. Peter wondered if they knew the reason they’d taken him at all.

And what of Edmund? He’d also gone after a rogue party, though, granted, it had been within the walls of the castle. Had they wanted to take him, too? Susan and Lucy had been locked away and guarded, and he had little doubt they’d remained safe. He missed them all terribly, so much that, for a moment, he completely forgot his danger and simply gave himself over to longing. But this was a rather useless thing to do, and certainly not of any priority. He got his head back together and began to feel around.

The first thing his hand came in contact with was water, and, knowing it was probably more than just water, he quickly retracted his hand with a disgusted exclamation and continued his search on a higher level. Bars. So he was, indeed, in a brig. He might have been able to find a route of escape if he could only _see_ something. 

“Lion help me,” he said again, more prayerful this time. “Aslan, if you’re listening, please, keep my siblings safe and help me to find my way out.”


	8. The Man in Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some extensive studying of a Narnian map, I decided to do what I wanted anyway and took a couple liberties with Narnian geography.

Aisling’s legs were sore from the walking, and her back was sore from her supplies, and her boots still hadn’t properly dried out, but what they found by mid-morning was worth the discomfort. 

They had found a grove of cedar where a fight had clearly taken place, although there were no bodies to show a victory. Aisling wondered if the fight had been in the dark, and, both parties being sorely blind and confused, had ended unresolved. Not too far away, there were the remains of a tiny camp, which led Aisling to cry out with victory.

“He lived, at least!” she said. “Although when I find him, he won’t for much longer.”

Dasher left her side for a moment, and she turned to see what he was doing. He was waving to something, gesturing for it to come their way, and then she saw. A young Yew Dryad hesitantly moved towards them, not so much afraid as shy.

“Good morn, lovely lady,” Dasher said with a grin.

She giggled. “Good morn, sir.”

“Did you happen to see the man that camped here?”

She nodded. “This past night.”

Aisling felt a rush of satisfaction at that. They were gaining. 

“And did he look like King Edmund?”

The Dryad shook her head, and Aisling’s spirits flagged. “What did he look like, then?” she asked.

The Tree then lost a bit of her playful demeanor. “He was all in black, like the dark of the night, and he bore no resemblance to the kind king. He looked fierce and angry.”

Black, like the dark of the night. With a sinking heart, Aisling pictured the ragged creatures that had attacked Cair Paravel. So the camp was not Edmund’s.

“Maybe he didn’t make camp, and pressed straight on through,” Dasher offered. “Puddlere is only an hour’s walk from here, someone there might have seen something.”

“I hope you’re right,” Aisling said. She bowed to the Dryad. “Thank you for your assistance, lady. I hope to bring better tidings should I return.”

With a bow in return, she slipped back into the shadow of the trees.

Dasher and Aisling set off again in the direction of a little town on the edge of Glass Water. She dearly hoped whatever scuffle King Edmund had gotten into hadn’t left him injured or worse. Despite the many threats leveled at his royal highness’ head, she couldn’t bare to see any harm come to him. She was equally as worried for King Peter, but at the moment, the younger of the two was the only one she could help. With any luck, the _Lionheart_ would find the High King before any more damage could be done.

She’d never let Dasher know -- although she suspected he already did -- but she was very nearly paralyzed with fear. Since she took up the task of protecting the kings and queens, they had become very dear to her. Their defense was more important than anything else, including Aisling’s own. That one had been kidnapped and the other slipped through her fingers made her feel like an absolute failure, though she’d done everything she could to be prepared. 

_Captain of the Guard, it’s_ your _job, above anyone else, to keep them safe,_ she silently berated herself. _This falls on your shoulders._

They reached Puddlere, and it was even smaller than Aisling had presumed. Only a few families inhabited this town near the shore, and most of them were Squirrels, Badgers, Voles, and Mice (though not the caliber of Mice that fought in the army). It could hardly even be considered a town, more of a dwelling. But, Aslan had blessed these Animals with the gift of speech, and so they could give information. 

“Ho, travelers!” called an elderly Badger, waddling towards them on his hindpaws. “Be you searching for something?”

“Aye. A man in black and an errant king. You wouldn’t happen to have seen either, would you?” Aisling asked.

“No king, but I did see somebody dressed black as the night,” said the goodly Badger. “Didn’t like the look of him, no sirree. Got some nasty black cloud following him.”

“Black cloud” was a figure of speech used by many Animals to convey that someone was of very poor spirits, in the way people are when rain pours down on them. Even so, Aisling couldn’t help but take the words literally. The clouds she’d seen five days previous had settled firmly over Narnia and didn’t seem intent to move anytime soon. No one here seemed to be overly concerned about it, which was about the most heartening thing to happen all week. 

“And on we move,” Dasher said positively. “Thank you, Mr. Badger.”

“Aslan walk with ye, friends. And beware, looks like rain’s a-coming.” 

“If only it were _just_ rain,” Aisling muttered as she walked by. 

So it was that Puddlere was distinctly unhelpful. Aisling was in a foul mood at this point, and woe to he who decided to cross her. Dasher couldn't help but notice this, and to remedy the situation (as an irritated captain was no fun at all to travel with), he pulled out Queen Lucy's panflute. "Hows about a little tune, Captain?" he asked, brushing off a bit of dirt on the rim. 

"Do whatever pleases you," she said, though secretly she was relieved that she might get a bit of levity to this hellish week.

The Faun raised the pipes to his lips and blew on them experimentally. He’d pulled them out after making camp the night before, but had been too tired to really do anything with them, so this was the first he’d be playing upon them. A few crisp, clear notes rang out into the woods, and for a moment, Aisling felt golden rays of nostalgia and contentment settle in her heart. In summers past, Queen Lucy would sit in the palace gardens, playing her panflute for anyone who would listen. In moments, she would have a whole host of subjects draped about the flora and fauna, listening silently and peacefully to her music. These pipes had been made especially for the queen, and had a distinct sound matched by no other. Hearing them again pulled the captain back to those lovely summer days that were nothing like the ones she lived now.

Dasher began to play a tune she instantly recognized, and she hummed along while she kept her eyes scanning the area around them. This did make the journey that much more enjoyable, just a little more pleasant than how it had been thus far. 

Suddenly, in the middle of the song, she saw movement in the trees. She held up a hand and Dasher immediately ceased playing. Someone was hiding just out of sight. Creeping slowly forward, Aisling drew her short sword as quietly as possible. Her lieutenant was following suit with his halberd a few paces behind. Before she could reach the spot she’d last seen movement, a dark form sprinted away. She caught a glimpse of black, tattered clothes and gave chase. 

She poured on all the speed she could muster, but, encumbered as she was, she wasn’t going to catch up. Willpower alone was not enough for her, not even the need to get information of King Edmund’s whereabouts. In minutes, the creature was gone, vanished into the woods. To make matters worse, they were now far from the original trail, and rain began to pour down around them.

Aisling had not even the will to make threats.

“Should we find shelter, then?” Dasher asked, noticing the worrying slump to his captain’s shoulders.

Her hair was already sticking to her face. “I don’t care,” she said, walking away from the spot.


	9. The Duty of a Queen

Queen Susan was rushing as fast as propriety allowed to the healers of Cair Paravel. For once, Lucy was not with her, and it was all for the better. Her task now was not something of which she wanted her little sister knowing all the details. 

“My Lady,” said a Rabbit healer named Barkus, bowing low. It was obvious he’d been waiting just outside the door for her arrival. “I do beg your forgiveness for having to bring you such evil tidings.”

“I am a Queen of Narnia, and I will take what comes,” she said grimly, all too aware of how duties that were once Peter and Edmund’s now fell to her.

Barkus nodded, then pushed open the door and led her inside. Three guards lay on the clean white pallets, two of them (one a Panther and the other a Sparrow) asleep and badly wounded, while the third (a Hedgehog) was awake and trembling slightly. 

“Dear cousin, pray tell me what terrible thing befell you,” Susan said, falling to her knees beside the Hog.

“My queen,” he said, bowing as well as he could from his position. “It was horrible. We were sent to remove the bodies of the slain from the north side of the castle. In the midst of our progress, they…. Oh, Aslan….”

“They began to wake.”

Susan turned, seeing the grim, pale face of Oreius far above her. “General. Were you there?”

“I didn’t need to be, your highness. The same happened as we were finishing our cleaning of the front steps.” His hooves pawed the ground nervously. Susan had never seen him so distraught, and this, above anything else, was cause for the utmost concern. “The bodies we did not give to the fire in time stood again and walked. The fight began anew.”

All the air seemed to leave the room. She felt stifling hot and cold all at once, whilst her heart beat loud enough to cover all noise. “How is this possible?” she said in hardly more than a whisper.

“By a deep, dark magic the likes of which we have not yet seen.”

“But they were dead! Nothing can give them life again except Aslan!”

“My lady, they were dead before they came to us. This was not the Lion’s doing.” He put a large hand on her shoulder, lending her as much comfort as he could give. “Come with me. Perhaps the royal records have the information we seek.”

“I’m not certain that I _want_ to know,” she said, getting to her feet. She followed the Centaur out to the hall, then stopped. “Oreius, I don’t know how much more worry my heart can take. All in less than a sennight, we have faced a new enemy, my brothers have gone missing, and now you tell me that even death is not certain? Nothing in my lessons could have prepared me for this!”

He looked upon her with sad eyes, his heart aching that he could not simply make things better for the beautiful queen. “Susan,” he said, forgoing the title for want of affection. “I have never known beings stronger than your family. I have faith that Aslan and Captain Aisling will see your brothers returned safely, and we will do all we can here to defeat our foe. Do you forget that once the Witch was thought to be unstoppable? This will end, come what may, and Narnia will be better for it. With you and your sister to guide us in these dark times, we will not fail.”

She took a very deep breath, thinking of all the things that scared her, then let everything go. This was a practice that Peter had taught her once, his secret to keeping his head before and during a battle. She found that piece of him helped to strengthen her, a golden light shining through the shadows that were her fears. In her exhale, they dissipated, seeming much smaller and more inferior than before. She was Queen Susan the Gentle, ruler of Narnia and sister of High King Peter the Magnificent. The enemy had better be running scared.

“Let us search these records,” she said with renewed conviction, setting off down the hall.


	10. The Fight in Glasswater

Camp that night was a soggy affair, though they were granted the help of some Trees who bent themselves together for a shelter. It was a fine shelter for simpler purposes, perhaps to escape the sun on a summer’s day, but on this night, in this weather, it served only to stave off the worst of the rain. It was still wet underneath the canopy of leaves, and there was no way Dasher or Aisling was going to light a fire unless they truly wanted to be bodily hauled away by a load of roots. All in all, it was going to be a perfectly miserable night and Dasher was still not unhappy.

He had the panflute out again. Aisling was sitting moodily on his right and a bit forward, staring out the entrance to their leafy cave and trying hard not to cry. It had always been a humiliating trait of hers that, whenever she was frustrated or made someone angry without meaning to, tears would start to form. The thought of I don’t know what I’m doing kept entering her mind and wouldn’t leave, and that only made her all the more upset. 

After several minutes, Dasher stopped playing and began digging around in the packs for some supper, picking up singing the song where he’d left off.

_“Aslan says you cannot earn what you have inside_

_He says you’ll look a hundred years for what you cannot find_

_Aslan didn’t scream it, he said it with a song_

_And he’s never been known to be wrong....”_

“Eat,” Dasher commanded, throwing a pack of field rations at her.

She let it fall. “I’m not hungry.”

“Tough.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and delved into the pack, then moodily bit at a strip of dried meat.

Dasher watched her carefully. “You’re not giving up now, are you?”

She whipped around so fast she cracked her back. “Giving up? How dare you ask me a question like that!”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Fine, it was a question, not an attack.” He slowly put his hands back down, keeping his eyes on her. “I just think you’re putting too much of this on yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I?” she asked, surprising him. “I’m the Captain of the Guard, Dash, this is my responsibility.”

“As it is mine.”

“Yes, that’s why I brought you.”

“Well, you don’t see me beating myself up about it, do you?” He raised a thick eyebrow. “Captain, every day you get angrier at no one but yourself. Exactly how useful is that?”

“It doesn’t have to be useful, it’s just what happens.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Leave it be, Dash, there’s nothing to be done about it.” 

He stared hard at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Well, I’m turning in. You should, too.”

“Shan’t.”

“Tough.”

\---- 

The next day was possibly the worst yet for Aisling’s mood.

They were headed to Waterlock, a much larger town than Puddlere in the Glass Water area. Because of its proximity to Archenland, Waterlock had a small concentration of Humans as well as Animals, meaning some things here would actually be to Aisling’s and Dasher’s scale. 

It was honestly quite unfortunate for the Man in Black, then, for he happened to be in just the wrong place at just the wrong time. After hours of trekking down the road in wet, muddy clothes, in a heat that was not nearly as dry as she would have liked, Aisling had a raging headache and was boiling with fury for King Edmund, for rivers, and for any sort of thing that happened to annoy her. The Man in Black was the most perfect outlet imaginable.

She spotted him outside the tavern at Waterlock, and she spared no moment for thought. With a shouted, "YOU MISERABLE SON OF A HAG!" she swung her sword mightily at the offending creature.

He brought his own sword up so quickly she was momentarily taken aback, but the duel fell into full swing almost immediately. Animals of all sorts ran for cover as the fight took to the main road. Small carts wisely stopped or steered themselves away.

But then this, the first real encounter between Aisling and the Man in Black, caused her to realize something absolutely infuriating. The strikes, the technique.... Every time he attacked, it was with all the force of an Elephant. With a wild yell, Aisling brought up her foot, kicked him in the chest so hard that he fell on his rear, then knelt upon him. She seized his hood, exposing dark eyes and a spray of freckles. "I knew it," she growled.

"Since when have you been able to beat me?" Edmund panted.

"What reason do you want first? Since you've been travelling alone for a week! Since I'm so angry I could fell a Minotaur! Or maybe it's since I've actually _improved_ , as you seem disinclined to admit!"

He stared at her. "So which is it? Am I weak or have you improved?" 

"I'm strongly in support of both at the moment!" She shoved herself off of him, stalking away.

Dasher lingered, reaching down for the king's hand. "Well fought, your highness."

"Is she very angry, then?" Edmund asked dryly as he stood.

"Many an oath has been uttered in your general direction, sire. It's been the most amusing camping trip I've ever been on," Dasher said pleasantly. 

Edmund snorted. "Lion bless you, Dasher."

"Well, I do think the Lion has a bit more pressing matters, don't you, good my king?"

Edmund shook his head, patting the Faun on the shoulder, then left to follow his captain. 

\----

"How could you possibly think _any_ of this was a good idea?" Aisling snapped over a mug of cool Glass Water beer. 

“If I was recognized, it would have slowed my progress further,” Edmund said, his hood pulled up to hide his face.

“Yes, dressing as Narnia’s primary enemy always lent everyone an easier time!”

“They’re the ones I was hiding from! I’d already been ambushed once.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t run off, you wouldn’t have that problem.” 

He pointed a finger at her. "Listen here, Captain, it seemed like a good idea then, and it seems like a good idea now. Peter's my brother. He'd do anything for me, and I'd do anything for him."

She shook her head, sighing heavily, then leaned back in her chair. "You make my job a living nightmare, I hope you know that." 

He almost smiled. "Well I do, good my captain. I know what your job entails you to do, and I'm sorry for getting in the way of that, but-"

"Sire, forgive my frank speech-"

"Ah, I get a warning this time."

"-but you _don't_ understand," she hissed, all the more riled for his words. "King Edmund, I tried to explain it to you before, and you chose not to listen! I meant it when I said you weren't the only one concerned for the High King, and don't you _dare_ think no one would have been concerned for you. This was never for my _job_. I did not traipse through the woods, wade in and out of the Great River four times, risk getting gray cough, and drag my idiotic carcass halfway across Narnia because I get paid! And neither, for that matter, did Dasher."

The Faun, content to let Aisling take over the conversation, merely raised his tankard in agreement. Still, despite his calm expression, his eyes were steely. Edmund knew he would find no leeway there.

Then he asked the question he knew she wanted him to ask. "Why did you want to become our guard, Aisling?"

Her breathing was harsh and shaky, but she leaned back in an attempt to calm herself. "Because I _love_ you, my king. All of you. When I was twelve years of age, the blessed year you and your family banished the Winter and took the thrones, a prince of my country was stolen away. It was said that he would help to save Narnia, and I suppose someone did not want that to happen. He has been missing for years and many have given up hope. Archenlanders, just as Narnians, _love_ their kings. When I was fourteen, I thought about this, and I couldn't bear the thought of something horrid befalling one of you. That is why I wanted to join the guard."

King Edmund at least had the sense to look abashed. He glanced down at his plate of food but seemed to have no more interest in it. "I hope you believe me when I say I am sorry for the heartache I've caused. To you and anyone else."

She crossed her arms. "Sorry won't cover it, sire."

He blinked. "How do you mean?"

"I do accept your apology, sir, and I believe it is genuine. But I also know that in your heart of hearts you will not amend your ways. When next trouble befalls someone you love, you will instantly be at arms to rescue them. You are the king, sire, and you must learn to delegate."

"But what sort of king am I if I send other people on dangerous quests for my sake?"

"You'd hardly even have to ask, highness. Anyone would be glad to let themselves be harmed so you won't have to."

There was a flash of pain in his eyes and she knew he was remembering Aslan. If only the Great Lion were here to talk some sense into him. 

"I believe we've all had a very exhausting day," Dasher said, breaking the silence. "Neither of you are going to win this argument, although, for what it's worth, sire, I understand your side, but I'm with the captain."

"This comes as little surprise, friend," Edmund said dryly.

"I suggest we all find a room and get some rest.”

As it happened, due to the nasty brawl outside, the tavern keeper was unwilling to let them stay the night at the inn. This excluded Dasher, whom the keeper like very much, but the Faun decided friendship was worth more than a comfortable night’s sleep, and so joined Edmund and Aisling in the barn out back. 

As they were settling into the hay, Aisling paused and looked at the king. “Why did you run?”

He glanced up. “Sorry?”

“In the woods yesterday. I was ready to kill you, you know. If I’d had time to draw my bow, you would have been dead.”

“Thank Aslan for small miracles.”

“Why did you run?” she pressed.

He sighed and slumped into the hay. “I heard Lieutenant Dasher playing the panflute. I didn’t know it was the lieutenant, I _thought_ it was Lucy, so I doubled back. I saw it was you, and.…”

“Took off,” she said, eyes starting to burn. She couldn’t explain how offended she felt. Yes, she was angry, but that was more due to concern for his safety than anything else. She’d put so much effort into finding him, and then he’d simply refused to be found.

The king seemed to realize what he’d done and paled. “Captain, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright, you were thinking about your brother.” 

“Yes, I was, but that doesn’t make it alright.”

She looked at him. “You do realize that if you’d come to this conclusion days ago, we wouldn't have wasted all this time we could have used to find High King Peter.”

That seemed to hurt him like nothing else, and she instantly regretted her words. Without another word, Edmund laid down on the hay and closed his eyes. Aisling looked to Dasher, and, to her relief, he gave a nod of agreement. 

At least they’d found him. That much they could be proud of.


	11. Two Kings

It had been two days since Peter had discovered that he was on a ship. He never saw his captors, was always asleep when they brought him the rubbish that passed for food. Even if he wasn’t asleep, there was no light by which to see anyone. If it weren’t for the silence, this brig might have been filled with other occupants he’d never know about. 

He wasn’t even sure it _had_ been two days. It had just felt like an awful long time to be in one place, and he’d made a guess without much information to go on. He was so incredibly lonely, slightly scared, and very much annoyed at his current predicament. He could only hope that the rest of his family was alright. 

Then, as he was counting the seconds that passed, he heard the hatch leading down to the brig open. For the first time, rays of light broke through the eternal darkness and he blinked at the sight of it. Then, heavy footsteps came down wooden stairs, and the door to Peter’s cell flung open. 

No one spoke a word, but there was a good deal of grunting and strange clacking. He was seized by the arm and hauled up the stairs without preamble, then very suddenly found himself bathed in moonlight.

Then his nightmare got all the worse.

The deck of the ship was just as black and ghastly as the rest of it, and the crew was even worse. Peter stuck by his original assessment of them being dead, or near to it. Some of them were recognizable as Humans or Foxes or Cats, but there, too, were creatures that could have been anything once upon a time. 

What was odd was that, except for the two holding his arms, they stayed well back from him, as though something about him repelled the creatures to be at least six feet away. They leaned against the bulwark or in the shrouds or hung from the rigging, and all had their eyes on the High King. All of them looked too pleased.

Then Peter saw why no one was approaching him. Coming from what he assumed was the captain’s cabin was probably the worst part of this horrific adventure. It was shaped like a Man, but not a Man, and much, much taller. Draped over his body was a huge, ebony coat, and around his hips was belted a silver sword with poison green jewels set into the cross-guard. A black hat covered his head, but hid not his face. Where his face should have been, anyway. Instead, there was only a hollow, grinning skull.

He walked up to Peter with slow, deliberate steps. The only sound was the water lapping at the ship and the dull thunk of his boots on the boards. He stopped not even a foot away, staring down at the king from his towering height. “Kneel, Son of Adam,” he said in a deep, hateful voice.

Peter knelt for no one who did not first deserve it, and this monster had deserved nothing but a swift and final death. He remained upright. 

The hollow eye sockets of the captain met his defiant stare with cool indifference. A moment later, Peter felt a blow to the back of the legs and his knees hit the deck. A ripple of appreciative sounds arose from the crew.

“Good.” The captain turned away and began to pace the deck, slowly and deliberately as he had done before. “Here he is, then. See him, remember him. He is your freedom.” He stopped with his back to Peter and, without looking, pointed at a seemingly random member of the crew. The crewman leaped down from the shrouds and stood a pace or two away from his captain. A bony finger pointed down, and the crewman knelt. 

Then, so fast that Peter didn’t even process what was happening until seconds after, the captain divided the crewman’s head from his body with a swift movement of his wicked blade. A strange, greenish fire enveloped the body, without any visible source. In moments, there was only a pile of ash and cracked bones. “See him, remember him,” he said, his words accompanied by the hiss of scattering ashes. “He is your lesson. I am your king. Your loyalty, your devotion, all of it belongs to me. If ever you question me again, the same and worse will be your fate. Forget not that you are as dispensable as blades of grass and I have the luxury of not tolerating an inadequate crew. Stay behind the line, else when I have taken my fill you will have nothing except pain and despair. Do I make myself _excruciatingly_ clear?”

Dead silence followed this, and he must have taken it as confirmation, because he sheathed his sword. “Downward, wretches,” said the captain calmly, and Peter was hauled to his feet once more. They threw him back into the brig, then the hatch slammed shut and he was once again in total darkness. 

Even in his solitude, Peter did not allow himself to tremble. But, oh, the fear he felt. What new evil was this? What sort of magic brought the dead back to life, and what exactly was it that could kill them again? 

_Aslan, please, help me._


	12. Pushing Patience and Luck

Aisling awoke to Dasher pinning her arms down and King Edmund firmly holding her shoulder. She pulled out of their grasp, sitting up and trying to regain her breath, which wasn’t easy whilst sitting atop a pile of hay.

“Alright, Captain?” Dasher asked, his concerned eyes belying his casual tone.

She nodded. “Bad dreams.”

“Dead men?” Edmund asked. She nodded again. “I had the same. Although my dead men are led by the White Witch and that just makes everything more awful.”

She and Dasher looked at each other, surprised that the king would reveal his dreams, let alone his nightmares to them. Deciding it best not to pursue the topic, everyone silently reached into their respective packs to take out field rations. Edmund hardly touched his.

“We’ll be setting out as soon as we can,” Aisling said. “Without all the meandering we did on the way here, we can probably make it back to the Cair in two days’ swift walk.”

“You can.”

She paused, looking at the king. “Sire?” 

He was looking back at her, mostly resolute but also somewhat nervous. “I’m not stopping.”

“Why?” she asked tightly, ignoring a look from Dasher.

“I told you I was ambushed the other day. That’s where I got this cloak and tunic. But before I dispatched him, I learned that he had lagged behind the rest of his group, and that they were heading further to the south to reunite with their ship. If Peter’s with them, we can track them down. If he’s on the ship, we can track them down and still find him.” 

Aisling folded her arms. She didn’t come all this way just to _help_ the king put himself in mortal peril. “And what exactly are you planning to do if he is on the ship, your highness? Swim to it?”

He gave her a look that said the sarcasm was not appreciated. He didn’t say anything by it or make a move against her, however. He did like Aisling, thought of her as a friend, in fact. She was like this with him because she knew she could be and because she knew, out of all the Pevensies, Edmund was the one who responded to sarcasm. The two could have the nastiest conversations at times and mean absolutely nothing by it. That relationship was serving her in good stead now, or so she hoped. “One of the reasons I took these clothes was because I was hoping to join that group, in disguise, see,” Edmund said. “Since I killed the one that fell behind, maybe they’re still expecting him, and they’re not the brightest of creatures.”

“That might have worked, sir, if there had been a way for you to go along as they went to their ship,” she said.

“Wouldn’t the ship send a longboat?” he asked.

“They didn’t use longboats at the Cair,” Dasher said. 

“So what did they use?”

“Their legs.”

Edmund looked startled. “They swam?”

“They walked.”

Aisling breathed out, her earlier suspicions having been confirmed. “Any other plans, sire?”

He frowned, his chin resting on one hand and his dark eyes boring into the ground. “Well… if they have Peter with them, the ship will be forced to come closer to shore.”

“And if they haven’t?”

“Then…. Well, I suppose we have to swim. Or follow at a distance in a smaller boat.”

She gritted her teeth. “That was the entire point of the _Lionheart_ being sent out!”

“The _Lionheart’s_ not here, is it?”

“That’s why we go _back_!”

“No. We’re too close now to turn around.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, falling back into the hay. “Lion, give me strength.”

“Now you’re sounding like my sisters.”

She glared at him. “Your highness, I explained the situation to you last night. You are _going_ back to Cair Paravel if I have to drag you by your ankles.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how to say it any plainer. I’m not going back. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. You can either help me, or you can leave me to what dangers may come.”

She stared, hurt by the ultimatum. She understood that, when it came to Peter, Edmund would do anything in his power to get him back. He wasn’t being manipulative on purpose, but his judgement went out the window in times such as these. She shouldn’t be angry with him, but she was.

“In that case,” said Dasher out of the silence that followed, “I can tell you that getting to the ship isn’t as much of a problem as you think.”

The king and captain both blinked in surprise. “Pray tell why you didn’t bring this up before,” Edmund said.

Dasher shrugged. “I told you, sire. I’m with the captain.” 

He took a breath. “I don’t fault you. Tell me the information, please.”

The Faun sat, picking up a twig and beginning to draw in the dirt. “This is Glasswater. We are currently hereabouts. As the trail those creatures left behind hasn’t ended, we can assume they’ve gone on, and I strongly assume that because right here-” he drew an ‘x’ on a small inlet, “is a cove of sorts called Glasswater Creek. Whether the group on foot has the High King or not, I can tell you with near certainty that the ship will sail in here. It’s secluded and no one will see it unless they are there in the inlet. It’s the perfect place to let your guard down for a moment and regroup.”

Edmund looked pensive and Aisling looked betrayed. After a moment, however, she threw her hands into the air. “Fine! Let’s all just get ourselves killed, then! That’s really useful!”

\----

They finished their breakfast as they left, wasting no more time arguing. Aisling had to admit that Edmund was right, that time was of the essence and going all the way back to Cair Paravel would sorely waste that precious resource. The subject that was on everyone’s minds but no one dared to broach was what was currently being done to King Peter. Judging by the appearance and relentlessness of the enemy, they could be up to truly cruel activities. The worst part was that no one really knew _why_ he specifically had been taken. Obviously, as the High King, he would garner a handsome price, but Edmund had been much more accessible for most of the battle. There was always the chance that none of them had known Edmund was also a king, as the multiple monarchs was sometimes confusing, and Edmund hadn’t exactly been dressed as royalty, anyway. Peter had been in full armor, unmistakably a warrior king. Still, the trio had a hard time believing that money was all these brutes were concerned with. 

With another look at the ever-present clouds, Aisling decided that something far darker was in the making.

It took half the day, but they made it to Glasswater Creek. The trail, while not nearly as direct as their own path, had led in generally the same direction. They could only hope that they weren’t too late. 

As it happened, the ship had yet to arrive. The only way they could tell was by the group of black-clad monsters that were clustered beneath the shade of several trees. They weren’t totally across the inlet from the trio, but they were far enough away to not see or hear the newcomers.

“Pete’s not with them,” Edmund breathed after an intense scouring of the scene. 

“Then he’s on the boat,” Dasher said, implying with his tone that this was no better or worse than their previous situation. 

“But what’s he doing on the boat?”

“We can’t know until we get there, sire.”

Dasher and Aisling both sat in the grass, prepared to wait until the ship arrived. Edmund, on the other hand, began to pace. His hair was standing on end from the many times he’d pushed his hand through it, and, at length, he tore the black cloak from his shoulders.

“Smells,” he said in response to their curious looks, then doffed the tunic as well. 

Aisling shook her head, wishing she could calm her king’s nerves, when movement caught her eye. “Hang on, who’s that?”

Another creature was approaching the group in the shade. One of them stood, words were exchanged, then they all sat down. Aisling looked back at Edmund, then saw that he was white as a sheet. “Sire?”

He sat before he could fall over, worrying his companions further. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

“What is, sir?” Dasher asked.

“I killed that one,” Edmund whispered.

Aisling swallowed hard, then looked back. Indeed, the newcomer had no cloak nor tunic that they could see, but he was very much moving as though he was alive. Edmund touched the discarded cloak, staring at it in horror, then flung it away from himself as though it, too, would come alive.

Then, a horrible thought came to Aisling. “What about all the ones we killed at the Cair?” she asked. “There must have been a score and a half at the very least.”

“They don’t get back up right away, apparently,” Dasher said. Aisling couldn’t believe how well he could keep his head, even at a time like this. “We burn the bodies of fallen enemies on a pyre. Even if they did get the chance to wake, I have faith that General Oreius and his men put them down again and burned them.”

“Will burning stop them?”

“Well, if they haven’t bodies to walk with, I doubt they’ll get up again.”

Edmund shook his head, eyes wide and staring off into the distance. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have left. Susan and Lucy, if they….” He swallowed. “There aren’t any right answers.”

Aisling looked back at him, her anger with the king fading for the first time in days. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the problems he’d caused. It was that he had to decide which was the greater of two evils. His sisters he presumed safe in the castle, but Peter was in any amount of danger. How was he to know that the enemy would persist long after a sword or arrow felled them?

“They’re safe, my king,” she said quietly. “All of Narnia would give their lives before your sisters were hurt.”

“I dearly hope they don’t have to,” he said.

Dasher sat up, long ears twitching. “The ship, sire,” he said quietly.

They looked to the entrance of the cove, and it was as though evening had come early. The huge, black ship sailed in, bringing darkness with it. The sails were drawn, but even then they could see the tattered edges to the black fabric. As it neared, Aisling saw the name of the vessel for the first time, written in silver script along the starboard hull. _Misery and Blood._

“Ready?” Edmund asked.

They nodded, then everyone dropped their packs and supplies into a pile. A bedroll wasn’t going to be necessary in rescuing King Peter. A sword was. 

Carefully and oh-so quietly, the trio climbed down to the water’s edge. Very few crewmen were actually on the deck of the ship, which was a strange thing to see. Normally, during the the day, the deck was dotted with sailors adjusting the rigging, calling out to one another, and doing any number of jobs. But the _Misery_ drifted into the cove quietly, like a ghost. 

The group of creatures on the other side of the shore stood and began wading out to the ship, slowly so as to give it time to come to them. Edmund, Aisling, and Dasher slipped into the water, doing their best to keep weapons elevated. The creatures in the water started a fight, pushing each other around and generally being a perfect distraction. Still, Aisling nearly gave their position away with a gasp when one of the monsters stabbed the other out of spite. This served only to make the second more annoyed at the first, and then they were all pushing and stabbing. 

The commotion continued as the trio reached the ship. They clung to handholds on the hull, ready to pull themselves out of the water, when a voice on the deck shouted, “AY! Git yor carcasses back on this ship! Cap’n’ll just kill the lot of ya if’n yer not useful!” 

They stayed silent and unmoving as, with much grumbling and bickering, the creatures climbed aboard the ship. In their nearsighted stupidity, none of them noticed the Humans or the Faun clinging to the hull. However, now that so many more crewman were on deck, the trio had no hope of climbing up without being seen.

Then, through the woodwork, they (especially Dasher) could hear movement in the belly of the _Misery_. Suddenly, slats for oars opened up and long poles extended out and down to the water. Aisling’s heart was racing, for she was caught right in the middle of two slats. If she moved a few inches to either side, she would surely be seen by an oarsman. She had no choice but to wait until they were out in open water. 

After several minutes, her arms were tiring and her abdominal muscles were threatening to give out. Her breaths were coming short and harsh, luckily masked by the noise of churning water. She began tilting dangerously forward, unable to pull back, when Edmund (who was closest and clinging to a rope) flung his hand out and shoved her back against the wood. There was a dull thunk and everyone held their breath, waiting for someone to go searching for the source of the noise, but there was nothing. After five more tense minutes, the oars were retracted, the slats closed, and Aisling could join her friends in a more comfortable position. They edged around the ship to where a rope net hung, then situated themselves in its hold. Aside from repeatedly plunging them into the water for several seconds at a time, it was the most comfortable place to wait.

“We’ll go up when night falls,” Edmund said, loudly as he dared to be heard over the water. 

Aisling and Dasher could only nod, too tense and exhausted for much more.


	13. Noble Sir Giles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giles is one specific example of elektrum's hand in this universe

Stretching languidly, pawing at the air as Foxes do, Sir Giles Fox awoke in his tent. He let his tongue explore his mouth and whiskers for a moment, tasting the cottony, early morning flavor on his gums and some of last night's dinner clinging to his fur. He'd been in this camp for a week awaiting further orders, and so far none had come. He didn't mind camping, not with the good fellows in his troop and the excellent field rations. However, he still had the utmost concern for the situation at Cair Paravel and was desperate for news of any sort. With another long stretch, he quietly padded out of the tent.

Outside, his wish came true. Just as he reached the main fire that was burning low and hot, there was a commotion at the edge of camp. A Dove and a Crow flew straight up to Giles, the Crow fighting to be first. The Dove was obviously from Cair Paravel, and he guessed that the Crow was from Captain Aisling. Crows were generally creatures that held everyone else in contempt, and there were very few people who could get them to deliver a message. The captain and King Edmund were among those few, and even then, not very often. 

"Peace, friends," Giles said, holding up a paw. "What news?"

The Crow made a noise that sounded like a gag and a clack. "Message from Captain Aisling - yaah. She has found King Edmund."

Giles' tail, which had been twitching nervously, relaxed. "How long until they reach us, good Crow?"

The Crow made a sound like a laugh. "They won't - yaah - Sir Fox. They have gone the other way."

"What other way?" Giles asked, tail drooping.

The Crow gave a knowing, almost amused look. "To the black ship, Sir. To rescue the king."

There was a disappointed moan from those in the camp. "Did Captain Aisling ask for reinforcements?" Giles asked.

"Yaah, no, Sir. She walks with silence as her ally, and anger as her sword. She bids you return - yaah - to the castle, and care for the queens."

He sighed, then turned to the Dove. "Pray tell me you have better news than he, friend."

The Dove puffed out her chest, blinking her lovely eyes at him. "I bring warning, Sir Fox. General Oreius says to burn the creatures if ever you find them. Otherwise, once dead, they do not remain so."

A gasp arose from the men and Giles was hard-pressed to keep from backpedaling. "What sort of creatures are these?"

"The General and her highness, Queen Susan, are attempting to find an answer."

He shook his head. "It is not good information, but it is useful. We will do as these messages have commanded. I thank you for your service, and feel free to rest here if need be." He turned away, feeling tension mount again in his shoulders. "We need to be ready. Let's pray to Aslan that the captain knows what she's doing."

Then, the Crow began to laugh once more, an unnerving sound that raised the Fox's hackles. "She'll ready them for a harsh defeat - yaah - if an old Crow knows anything about anyone. Like as not, she is already on their ship!"

Giles' tail lowered to the ground, more out of worry than anything else. He didn't doubt what the Crow said one bit, in theory, at any rate. He knew the captain well, as anywhere the kings and queens were, she was soon to follow. For all intents and purposes, she was just as bad as the kings, if not worse. When they launched themselves headfirst into danger, Aisling was either at their side or two steps ahead to keep them out of trouble. This, of course, often placed her in the worst danger possible. Giles himself had personally pulled her out of a deadly situation more than once. If all three were together, with only a Faun as the voice of reason.... He decided he'd have faith in Aslan and move the camp as requested.


	14. A Tale of Misery and Blood

Night had fallen. It came too swiftly, being so close to the _Misery and Blood_ , but still not soon enough for Aisling. When King Edmund looked at her and quietly asked if she and Dasher were ready, she replied with, “I would just like to be dry again, sire.” She hadn’t been totally dry for more than a few hours since this debacle began, and she was slightly afraid of getting white cough. 

She went first, as a king should never go first in these situations and because Dasher wasn’t quite as good at scaling the hull. If he went last and fell, there was less risk of him taking the other two with him. She pulled herself up to look over the bulwark, then swiftly ducked back down. “Great Lion! It’s like the whole crew’s on deck!” she hissed.

“What?” Edmund said in confusion. “Why?”

She sighed. “We didn’t think this through. There’s a reason they’re not all out in the daytime - obviously they’re creatures of the night. This is when they’d work best.”

“But you can hardly see anything at night,” Dasher protested softly.

“Well, how would you feel if you were a corpse and the blazing sun was beating down on your rotting flesh?”

“I’d rot faster,” Edmund said, disappointment in his voice. Had they really wasted hours just to wait some more?

Aisling peered up at the deck again, carefully this time, then noticed that what was happening wasn’t simply the normal order of business. The crewmen were gathering round as though to watch a show. As she watched, two of them went to a hatch in the middle of the deck and descended into the belly of the _Misery_. While they were down there, she was getting the sense that something was terribly not right. The light the moon cast on the deck seemed somehow tainted, poisonous. Everything lit was horrible and every shadow was darker. The crew said not a word. Aisling shivered as she thought the phrase, _silent as the grave._

Then the hatch opened, and her heart stopped. “Oh, Aslan.”

“What?” Edmund asked, clamoring up to be on level with her.

“Sire, I don’t think-”

He sucked in a breath, staring at the figures on deck. 

The two crewmen who had gone down had returned, the limp form of King Peter supported between them. From where she was, Aisling couldn’t see if he was unconscious or injured or anything else, which was all the worse, for her imagination kept conjuring horrible ideas for what he might have been through. They propped him up against the mast, then began to bind him to it. 

“What are they doing?” Edmund whispered.

It was a moment before Aisling realized the sound she was hearing was not the blood pounding in her ears. The crew was beginning to chant, something eerie and wordless. They started softly, and were slowly but steadily growing louder with each repetition. Once they were finished tying up the High King (whom they could now see was unconscious), the two crewmen departed and a third broke free from the sidelines. He set a large stone bowl down in front of the High King, gave a sort of bow, then shuffled away. All the while, the chanting grew louder and more chilling. Peter began to stir, slowly shaking his head, and Aisling wildly thought how odd he looked without his crown. 

An unseen door burst open and the chanting halted. The resounding thunk of boots on wood echoed in the deathly quiet. A figure came into their sight, but they could only see his back. Even so, they could tell he was tall, and that he carried himself as one with absolute authority. The captain of the damned.

He stopped a few paces from Peter and drew his sword, a weapon that gleamed in the pale moonlight. Edmund moved as though to push himself onto the deck, but Aisling stopped him with a hushed, “Wait.” 

“We meet again, Son of Adam,” said the captain, his voice deep, cutting, and hateful. “I trust your stay has been comfortable.”

Peter glared at him, a glare that he rarely ever used, one that called upon the traits of his brother for strength. “Who are you?” he ground out.

“Indeed, it is time you know me, Son of Adam. Those whom you have met already are called the Lich. I am their king, captain, and savior. I am their messiah, and you are my Stone Table, little king.”

The very air seemed to drop several degrees as Peter muttered, “What?”

“This land is full and rich and so _alive_. This could sustain me for millennia. I will admit, there are far more of you, and the effort it would take for me alone to raise a large enough army is astronomical. Indeed, I only have a score of my own ships, pitiful compared even to your young navy. That is why I have you, Son of Adam. Because you are _the_ Son of Adam. You awoke Narnia from her icy slumber, and now, you will wake so much more. And you will begin with she who holds incredible power.”

“No,” Edmund muttered, white as the moon and still as a statue. “No, no, no, no.”

“Come, little king. It is time for us to wake the Narnians.” The Lich King stepped forward with his blade, pushing the stone bowl with his foot. With a painful lurch inside, Aisling realized that the only logical place to cut King Peter in his current position was at the throat. 

“ _NO!_ ”

Edmund, foolish boy that he was, leaped over the hull to the deck, sweeping his sword in a wide arc. Unfortunately, there simply wasn't time for a better solution. Aisling followed suit, joined moments later by Dasher, and then they were off. 

“Ed?” Peter cried, shock widening his eyes to the size of dinner plates. 

“Stop sitting around, Pete!” Edmund snapped, slicing through the ropes with one powerful blow of his sword. 

Peter wasted no time, getting unsteadily to his feet and catching the curved sword Edmund tossed his way. 

The silent ritual dissolved into madness in a matter of moments. The Narnians had the advantage of skill and strength, but the Lich had numbers and a shadow of immortality on their side. Still, the fight felt almost evenly matched, with how many the Humans cut down with their blades and how many Dasher skewered or knocked overboard with his halberd. To see a Faun in the heat of battle was a mighty thing, for they used everything to their advantage, be it head, hooves, or weapons. Being naturally talented dancers, they were quick, agile, and were able to execute impressive turns or rolls when the need arose. This was then, perhaps, the reason that he was the only one to get away.

While the battle raged on, the Lich King stood in the middle of the deck, unmoving and untouched. He observed his surroundings for a good while, never once approached by anyone, though the Narnians sorely wanted to. Then, at a seemingly random moment, he turned his sword and plunged it into the wood of the deck. A poison-green blast exploded over the surrounding area, causing the crew to cry out in pain and the Narnians to drop their weapons. Moments before, however, Dasher had grabbed hold of a long rope which, after the opposing weight had been cut free, launched him into the air and to the boom of the mizzen mast. He escaped this magic of the Lich, and so kept his weapon. 

The Lich King, oblivious to this, stepped over to where the Humans stood glaring mightily at him. Edmund and Aisling saw now that he was a skeleton, animated by some dark power and eternally smiling. He considered them for a moment, seeming pleased. “Now two Sons of Adam and a Daughter of Eve. Seems enough to wake the dead.” He chuckled slightly at his own joke.

Aisling didn’t care for the joke. She did, however, see Dasher on the boom. He was the only one the King hadn’t seen, the only one who could possibly get away. They made eye contact, and she tilted her head, telling him wordlessly to jump. The water wasn’t too far to be dangerous, and he’d taken plunges off the cliffs at Cair Paravel before. The only issue was masking the sound.

Dasher jumped and, as though in a last act of defiance, Aisling slammed her elbow into the Lich directly behind her and sent him over the side. Aslan be praised, the splashes matched up and the Lich King looked at her, not the water. “For that, you will go down to the dark. Take them,” he commanded to the crew. Two seized hold of Aisling and pushed her to the hatch, while the rest accosted the kings and a lot of rope.


	15. The Blood Ritual

King Peter let out a heavy sigh, not caring who or what heard him at this point. “What in Aslan’s name were you thinking?”

“A simple ‘thanks’ would suffice,” came Edmund’s annoyed grunt from his left. Peter knew from his tone that the idiot was working at the ropes.

Though his voice was angry, Peter was anything but. _Aslan, bless my brother. Thank you for putting this stupid, stubborn boy in my family. I don’t know what I did to deserve such luck_. “You realize you nearly got yourself killed.”

“Well, I didn’t, did I? You’ll notice that everyone’s still alive, which wouldn’t be the case if I’d let that zombie go and lop off your head, would it?”

“Yes, our situation certainly seems to have elevated.”

“Fine, be an ingrate, see if I care.”

He smiled to himself, his heart feeling lighter than it had in days even though both were now facing certain death. “Thank you for finding me, Ed.”

He heard his brother huff. “Right. Fat lot of good it did us, though. I’ll bet you anything Aisling hates me now.”

“You were always the worst troublemaker.” 

“Oi, you two,” growled a Lich, pointing his blade at the captives. “Shut it!”

“You shut it!” they snapped back in unison.

\----

In the complete darkness of the brig, Aisling was utterly spent. The last week had finally caught up with her, all the horror, the exertions, the emotional hurricane. She had nothing better to do, nor did she have the strength to do much else, so she began to weep. She wept for her kings, tied to the mast above, and the queens so worried in Cair Paravel. She wept for Dasher, alone somewhere on the shore. She wept for herself, scared and confused in this horrible ship with the most appropriate name. _Misery and Blood_. Indeed, she was having such a go at crying that it took her a long while to notice she wasn't alone.

She stopped her crying, hearing something or someone moving beyond the bars of her cell. But it was pitch black down here, she couldn’t see a damn thing.

Sight. _Lionsight_. She could have kicked herself. Frantically, she fumbled with the chain around her neck, then produced the amulet from within her shirt. For a moment, she was blinded. Then, she adjusted and she could see a good deal of the brig (though now she knew she didn't want to). "Who's there?" she called. "Show yourself.” If it was another of those stinking Lich, she’d have his head, no matter how tired she was.

But what she saw was no Lich. She gasped aloud at the massive creature that stepped into the light. “Aslan.”

The Lion bowed his head, eyes so sad she wanted to start weeping all over again. “Child,” he rumbled softly. 

She pulled herself as close to him as she could, and she was so near that she could feel his sweet breath on her face. “This is your amulet,” she said.

“It is. I have claimed it, and so it is mine, just as I have claimed you, and so you are mine. The amulet only provides light to those who know and love me.” 

She could feel tears welling up again. “Where have you been? Cair Paravel was attacked, the Lich King wants to raise the Witch and invade Narnia!”

He nodded his magnificent head. “I know of the Lich King and his plans. When I broke the Stone Table and triumphed over the Deep Magic, his realm was torn open. It would not have happened had Jadis’ trickery not touched to the very roots of the earth. He has spent these past few years building an army for this moment.”

Aisling was frightened by this prospect, that a monster from another world would come to invade hers. But she had enough training to know how to keep her head, at least, most of it. “King Edmund and King Peter are up on deck tied to the mast. I can’t help them from here. Couldn’t you go to them?”

There was infinite sadness in his eyes as he said, “There are some things in which I cannot interfere, young one. Your time comes swiftly.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t, Aslan, I’ve tried so hard. Every day of my life I’ve given to your blessed children and I still couldn’t help them. I’m not strong enough or fast enough or-”

“My child,” he rumbled, cutting her off fiercely. “You are more than enough. Your time is coming and you will have to be yet stronger. I will be with you, but you must make these decisions for yourself.”

“What if they’re not right?” She shook her head. “Aslan, I don’t deserve you like they do.”

A melancholy growl emanated from deep within the Lion and he pressed his face to the bars. “Child, you cannot deserve me. You cannot do anything to earn my love. I give it to you freely, willingly, and without hesitation, for I have claimed you and you are mine. Peter and Edmund need you now, and there is no other more capable of helping them.”

She leaned her head against his, taking a deep breath. “But I can’t get out.”

“That is where I _can_ help you. Stand back, dear one.” He waited until she was clear, then, with a snarl, he tore at the bars as though they were nothing more than slender wires. In seconds, there was a gaping hole large enough for her to walk through.

“Thank you.”

He pressed his massive flank against her. “Remember, your time is coming. Remember also that I love you, and that I am here.” 

She clenched the medallion around her neck and nodded. “Thank you, Aslan.” Pausing only to collect her weapons from where they hung on the wall, Aisling dashed up the stairs to the deck. 

It was daylight out, but not for much longer. That meant not many crewmembers for the next little while. One was on watch at the fore, another at the aft, and she was in the middle of the ship. All she needed to do was stay unnoticed by the one in the crow’s nest and she’d be alright. The biggest problem was figuring out what to do once she got the kings free. 

Using the various barrels and crates on deck to her advantage, she slipped over to the main mast. When she was close enough, she reached out and touched the first king, Peter, on the shoulder.

He started, then his eyes grew wide. “Captain?”

She put a finger to her lips. “I’m here to rescue you,” she breathed.

“Never thought of myself as a damsel in distress,” he said just as quietly. “How did you get out?”

“Aslan,” she told him. “You didn’t hear him roar?”

He blinked. “It’s been dead quiet around here for hours. _Aslan_ was here?”

“He said he couldn’t interfere.” She took out her knife and began working at the ropes, knowing her sword would require far too much movement. 

“Captain,” Edmund hissed. She couldn’t see him from where she was crouched, but she knew it was him. 

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

She continued sawing away with the knife, her hands so sore and shaky it was a wonder she was doing it at all. “Rescuing you.”

“Don’t you ever think things through, Captain? What do we do when we’re untied?” 

She paused and raised an eyebrow, much to Peter’s amusement. “How about I throw you overboard? Is that a good plan?”

The High King shook his head. “Night falls faster here. We don’t have much time.”

“I know, that’s why I’m working as fast as I can, sire.” She returned to sawing, then took a moment to glance around. “Longboats. We’ll take one and row for the shore. We can’t be more than four or five miles out. I doubt these guards will be quick enough to stop us, _if_ they even catch wind of it.” She lost her grip and the knife slipped from her hand. She couldn’t stop the shaking. It was folly to try this now, when she was so weak, and the kings were probably likewise exhausted. But, as with Edmund’s rash charge onto the deck, there was simply no time for a better plan. With the rise of the moon would come a redo of last night’s ritual. For the Lich, two kings would certainly be better than one.

“Are you alright?” King Peter asked kindly.

She shook her head. “Not in the least, my king. Not until we get off this miserable ship.” She looked around during this pause in exertion, then spotted the stone bowl still sitting on the deck, this time before King Edmund. A strange feeling of determination overcame her and she sheathed her knife. In the sunlight, closer now, she could see runes etched across the outside and inside of the bowl. It was large, as big around as her head. It was obviously important to the ritual, and maybe it wouldn’t work without the bowl. 

_Your time comes swiftly._

She stood, crossing the deck silently to the offending relic.

“What are you doing?” Edmund hissed.

For the first time, she ignored the king for a moment, taking hold of the bowl with both hands. She lifted, finding it far heavier than it should have been. It felt ice cold despite the summer heat, and the chill seemed to spread through her body. “I’m getting rid of it,” she murmured with every intention of throwing it to the bottom of the sea. 

So distracted was she that she missed all color draining from Edmund’s face. Before she could take a step, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. 

“Thank you for volunteering.” 

Her breath caught in her chest and she didn’t need to look to see that the Lich King had come out. She tore her eyes away from the bowl, noticing for the first time the myriad colors of dusk spreading across the sky, marred by the dark clouds hanging overhead. It was like the moments before a storm, the eerily bright light surrounding the gloom. 

Slowly, the Lich began to filter onto the deck from within whatever cesspit they had been hiding. Again, they stayed well back from the Humans, hanging in the rigging or the shrouds or sitting upon barrels. They watched her silently, waiting.

“How lucky you are to be the first,” said the King, turning her to face him. Even as she turned, the world seemed to grow darker. “You’ll have the honor of waking Our Lady.”

Aisling tried to fight the trembling in her limbs. “I thought you needed Peter.”

“His power is such that will bring forth the hordes that I require. But you, you will be enough to call the Lady hither.”

His wide, eternal grin made her dizzy with fright. Thunder rolled overhead. He pressed down on her shoulders with unbridled strength, shoving her to her knees. Faintly, as though from miles away, she could hear her kings shouting at the monster. The cold of the bowl in her hands was entering her bones, freezing her. It would not be long before it reached her heart.

The Lich King drew his knife, then took the bowl and set it on the black wood in front of her. The cold never left. Was that blood in her ears or the chanting of the crew? Bone hands gripped her arm, then icy steel drew across her flesh. He squeezed, ensuring that crimson blood fell into the waiting mouth of the bowl. The the dark liquid spread into the runes, giving them a slick appearance as though they themselves were weeping blood. She wanted to be sick. Her heart was beating so fast and hard she was afraid it would burst from her chest into the bowl. With horror, she wondered if that was the point.

Then, as the last symbol began to glisten with her precious life force, she felt rather than heard silence descend upon the deck. She was already so cold that she couldn’t feel the temperature drop, but she _did_ hear Edmund’s soft, horrified, “No.”

Slowly, shaking, she raised her eyes to what was before her. A white lady, beautiful and terrible, hovered inches above the deck. Her skin was pale as the moonlight all around, but her lips were red as the blood in the bowl. She didn’t seem real, was slightly transparent against the cloudy sky. But her smile was no less dreadful for it. 

“Hello,” she said sweetly, as a mother to a child. “I came wanting to see my dear Edmund, but I am just as pleased to see his lovely guard.”

No. No, this was wrong, so wrong. “Do not speak to me,” Aisling said, so quietly even she had trouble hearing.

“But why, dear girl? I can give you everything you ever wanted.” She had such patience when she knew it would get her something. “I can give you slaves, power, men, money, castles; I can give you all of Narnia if you but say the word and give me just a bit to drink.”

Aisling was unconscious of her head shaking back and forth. 

The Witch smiled almost fondly, seeming to understand. “Ah, but you don’t want those things, do you? I can see into your mind, bound now as we are. What you want is much different, much more noble. I can give you that, too. I can make you so strong no one would dare harm the ones you love. All you must do is give me my drink of Adam’s blood.” 

Aisling stared into the astonishingly bright eyes of the Witch. This promise was a double-edged sword, but did she know that? With the sort of strength the Witch was promising, Aisling could send her back to the void and do away with the Lich King, as well. She could double-cross the Witch and forever be able to defend Narnia from every evil. There was no losing. Of course, the Witch wanted Peter's blood, but did it _have_ to be his? It couldn't be any more magical than Aisling's, could it? 

She drew her knife, the blade flashing in the moonlight. The Witch smiled, hunger in her face. "Yes, dear girl. I am so very thirsty after all this time." She reached out her hand, as though to simply take the sacrifice directly into herself.

Aisling raised the blade to her arm, wondering just how much would be enough. But then, in the metal, she saw a glint of bronze. The amulet with the roaring Lion's face.

_Remember also that I love you, and that I am here._

_I have claimed you, and you are mine._

_I am Aslan's,_ she thought forcefully, the Lion's name sending rays of heat through the ice in her heart. _She is trying to make me hers, and I will not go._

She looked up, breathing for what felt like the first time in forever. As she tore herself away from the Witch, from the Bowl, and from everyone else, she saw hope on the water. A distant ship that was quickly gaining.

The _Lionheart._

Aisling turned back to the Witch, suddenly seeing her for the monster she was. "Rot," she snapped before taking the knife and plunging it into the bowl.

Her small weapon of steel should not have been able to penetrate the stone as it did, but a surge of strength filled her and she knew she could. With one blow, the relic shattered and the Witch screamed, fading off into the void. 

The victory, however, was not totally complete. Bound as she was to the Witch through blood, Aisling also felt the effects of her actions, though not as severely. Darkness closed in from the edges of her vision and she blacked out.


	16. The Lionheart's Rescue

As Aisling had been confronting the White Witch, Peter had made good use of the distraction. Panic had served to lend him a burst of strength, working at the ropes she’d been cutting. He had desperately ignored the conversation taking place, as it would only serve to distract him. This was easier for him, facing away from the goings-on, but Edmund was facing what was happening dead on. He alone knew the power of Jadis’ spell and he could do nothing but watch.

Then, rather unexpectedly, the rope gave way and Peter pitched forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Aisling fall to the deck and he wasted not another minute. Neither did Edmund. The two kings gained their feet and fell upon the nearest of the Lich. Thank Aslan for teachers that focused on unarmed combat once a week.

Before long, the kings had wrested weapons and were flooring the crewmen, regardless of the fact that they wouldn’t stay down for long. They got as close to Aisling as they dared, standing over their fallen guard to defend her. 

The Lich King had moved to the helm, staring down at the deck with annoyance. “It didn’t work the first time, little kings, why should it work now? Your efforts are hopeless!”

“Not quite, you stinking corpse!”

The head of every king snapped over to the port side, and Peter let out a triumphant whoop. The _Lionheart_ had pulled right up alongside the _Misery_ without anyone having been the wiser, and Lieutenant Dasher was standing at the side with hands on his hips. 

“Toss the hooks!” called Roule, the Otter captain of the _Lionheart._

The kings instantly moved to a safer location, still fighting, as ropes with heavy iron hooks at the ends arced over to the Misery’s deck. Mice came across first, scurrying over the lines, then Otters, and then anyone who could overcome the gap between the ships. This was a rescue mission, however, not an all-out battle. Once Aisling had been taken safely on board the Lionheart, the crew bundled Kings Edmund and Peter across the gap and instantly the ballistae fired. 

The _Misery’s_ weapons were unknown to the Narnians - large, barrel-like things that made hideous noises when fired and blew great holes in the hull. Edmund and Peter knew them as cannons, but it would be long before any of their subjects could understand what they were. Still, despite the power of the cannons, the Narnians had the upper hand. As they pulled away, volley after volley of flaming bolts fell upon the _Misery and Blood_ , the only weapon the Lich could fear. Before long, the black ship was no more than a bright speck on the night horizon.

“And a pox on you!” Peter spat, feeling better for having said something.

Edmund looked at his brother in faint amusement. “Pete, I think they are the pox.”

“Then they can go pox themselves.”

Just then, there was a commotion behind them. They turned, seeing the sailors clustered together, then someone called, “Move! Give her some air!”

The crowd backed off, thinning out a bit and giving the kings the chance to see Aisling lying on the deck, limp and pale with a small streak of blood running from her nose. Roule had a paw on her mouth and an ear to her chest, unmoving for a moment. “Breathing!” he announced, to the relief of the crew. “Heart’s going fast, but I think she’ll be alright.” 

“I’ll get the doctor!” called a Cheetah, and she sprinted down belowdecks.

For all that Roule had said, Aisling certainly didn’t _look_ alright. She looked as good as dead, perhaps having spent too much time in the company of those who were. Lieutenant Dasher gathered her in his arms and followed after the Cheetah, grim as ever the Faun had been.

With a sad sigh, Peter turn to his brother. He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. “Ed, your arm.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Your arm. It’s injured, look.” The High King took hold of Edmund’s shoulder, inspecting the tear in his shirt where blood was spilling out. He tsked. “You swiped at it. Ed, you know what Oreius says about that.”

“I can’t exactly help it in the heat of battle, can I?” he said, pulling out of his brother’s grasp. “I’m fine, honest. Doesn’t even hurt that much. Are _you_ okay?”

Peter nodded dismissively. “I’m fine. They didn’t do much to me, just kept me in the dark and only fed me when they remembered. You came and waylaid the worst of the trouble.”

“That we did,” he said expressively. “But you stink to the heavens, brother. I’ve half a mind to toss you into the water.”

“Believe you me, no one can smell this more than I can,” said the High King, walking over to collapse gratefully on a barrel. Edmund joined him, leaning back against the bulwark with a groan. “Why were you alone, Ed?” Peter asked.

“Wasn’t alone.”

“You only had Aisling and Dasher with you. Something tells me that wasn’t how things were supposed to happen.”

Edmund sighed, making a guilty face. “I just got you back, Pete, I don’t really want to talk about this.”

The High King instantly became concerned. “Is someone…. Did the rest of your troop die? Were they killed?”

Edmund looked startled. “What? No! No, my reasoning is far more vain than that.” 

“Oh.” He relaxed, but only a little. “You were an idiot, weren’t you?”

“And a bit of an ass.”

“Ah. Well, I’m confident Su will get it out of you when we get home.”

He made a face. “Actually, she already knows. I can expect to be murdered on our arrival.”

Peter laughed aloud. “Oh, good old Ed!”

\----

Aisling awoke feeling cold and weak. She registered that she was in a hammock, rocking back and forth very slowly. For a long moment, she could only lie there, too drained to do anything. Then, she noticed a small bell on the little shelf beside her hammock. With an incredible effort, she reached for it, unable to fully grasp the object and instead knocking it to the floor. The resulting clatter was enough, however, for a plump Water Vole came waddling into the room to meet her. 

“Mornin’, dearie,” he said kindly. “My name be Buckley. How do ya feel this day?”

“Spent,” she answered honestly. 

He gave her a sympathetic look. “Aye, dashin’ through the woods for days on end and then engaging in a perfectly terrible battle will do that to ya. You just rest now and we’ll see what we can do about some food.”

“Food would be lovely,” she told him. “But I’d rather like to get up.”

“Not a good thing to do, dearie. As we’ve said, yer spent.”

In reality, Aisling was actually feeling a bit stronger after some conversation, and she was convinced that some food and a spot of tea would do her a world of good. “Can you please get me as far as the mess hall?”

The Vole pursed his lips, clearly unhappy with the idea. “If I get ya there, you’ll be under watch and ya eat what I tell you.” 

“I can live with that.”

“Aye, ya must.” He stuck his furry arm out and, with some difficulty, she rolled out of the hammock and allowed him to support her. She felt a chill the moment she got up, however, so she took the blanket and threw it around her shoulders. Buckley looked at her with concern, then clucked a bit to himself. To him, it must have been a very bad sign to be bundling up on a warm summer’s day, but to Aisling, this was not so very surprising. 

With slow, shuffling steps, she made her way on deck. It was much warmer here, out in the light, and some of the stiffness in her body eased with the warmth. She took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, resting at the same time before the remainder of the journey. She spotted Kings Peter and Edmund at the bulwark, and then they spotted her.

“Ho, Captain!” called Peter with a smile.

A door across the deck opened and an Otter poked his head out. “Your majesty?”

Edmund laughed. “Sorry, Roule. My brother means the Captain of the Guard.”

“While on this ship, you can call me Aisling to avoid confusion,” she said with a tired smile. 

“I’m just glad I don’t have to call you dead, friend,” Peter said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She felt a warmth go through her that had nothing to do with the sun. _This_ was her High King, and she’d gladly risk everything five times over to see him smiling like this. 

“We were just off to the mess, yer majesties,” said Buckley. “You’d be most welcome to join us.”

“We will gladly take you up on that, cousin,” he replied with a small bow. “That is, if the lady doesn’t mind.”

Aisling snorted aloud at that. “I must be dying, sire, because I haven’t heard you call me a lady since I first began my work.”

“Aslan knows, I wouldn’t think once about it now,” Edmund said with a smirk.

She gave him a look, then shook her head. “To the mess, then, by your leave.”

Peter headed the entourage, and while there wasn’t very far to go, Aisling felt exhausted by the time she was seated at a long wooden table. Edmund noticed, giving her an understanding look. “She wears you out, doesn’t she?”

Aisling took a moment before nodding. She wanted to forget the Witch and how she’d manipulated her, and being reminded that Jadis had done far worse to her king was enough to make her reach for her knife.

She blinked. “Where’s my knife?”

“I suspect it’s still buried to the hilt in the deck of the _Misery_ ,” Peter said. “We tried to retrieve it, but there was nothing for it, especially in the heat of battle.”

She raised her eyebrows, impressed at herself. “Well, that would explain why I feel totally empty.”

“Not for long,” said Buckley as two sailors came with food. It was only salted meat, potatoes, toast (a concept which had taken a long time for Aisling to grasp - _You burn your bread on purpose?_ ), and weak tea, but it was the best thing she had ever tasted and she laid in with gusto.

“I would like to thank you, by the way,” Peter said a little while later. “Were it not for you and Lieutenant Dasher, I’m certain none of us would be here right now.” 

“By your leave, sir, I would rather you not. It is my duty to serve you without thanks.”

He smiled at her, that wonderful golden smile. Then Edmund shook his head. “I’ll still commend you on standing up to the Witch. It’s not an easy thing to break her hold.”

Aisling frowned, seeing slight guilt in his eyes. “I mean no offense, sire, when I say I had your example to follow, and you had none.” 

He nodded, understanding her meaning. “At least it’s over now. His ship is burned and he can rot at the bottom of the ocean.”

Aisling nodded, but deep down, something was telling her that wasn’t quite right. She had stopped the Lich King from raising Jadis, but he still had power. He was king of the dead and damned, why should a few flaming bolts stop him? The more she thought about this, the less she believed it was truly over. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. It was an important thought, one that might be an early warning, but then she remembered the King’s laughing face, the crew forced to be there against whatever will they had left. She suddenly realized how heinous the Lich’s crimes were, that he should think himself worthy to disturb the peace of the dead. Narnians had been on board that ship, dead Narnians who probably had no idea what they were doing. The King was an arrogant sort indeed if he thought he could wield such power and not reap the consequences. All at once, burning on the ocean seemed too small a punishment for him.

She pondered these things as she ate, no longer tasting the food with the depth of her thought. 

“...nearly chopped my head off, didn’t you, Aisling? Aisling?” Edmund was looking at her, amusement fading and replaced with concern.

She looked up, still lost in her murky thoughts. Unconsciously, she shivered. “What?”

His brow furrowed. “What ails you, good captain?”

She blinked, slowly recovering. “I’m just tired, my king.”

“Then perhaps it’d be best if we popped back to bed,” said the kindly Water Vole. “By your leave, majesties.”

“Of course,” the kings chorused, waving their hands and practically shooing the two away. 

Buckley ushered her out of the mess hall, a small but sturdy crutch as she shuffled along. She couldn’t remember feeling so weak before. Smiting the Witch had required far more physical exertion than any battle. 

Halfway across the deck, however, there was the clatter of hooves and an excited, “Captain, ho!” Aisling was suddenly assaulted, nearly knocked over by the excited Faun.

“Dasher!” she cried, smiling.

Buckley looked none too impressed at his antics. “She’s a patient, Master Faun, and I bid you remember that.” 

“Oh, yeah? Is our brave little captain on the list of the infirm, eh?” He squeezed her tightly, his powerful arms encircling her like bands of iron. He’d not ever hugged her like this, and she realized instantly that he’d been terrified for her. 

“You’d better watch who you’re calling infirm, Lieutenant. I’ll have you training the Mice for a week.” 

He frowned, pretend (and not so pretend) horrified at the prospect. “They’d saw my horns off completely by accident!”

“Then I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head.” She stepped back out of his grasp, lightly pushing on his chest, but all the activity and excitement proved to be too much. Her legs gave out and Dasher made no hesitation before catching her. 

“Whoopsie! There we go, now.”

Aisling almost rolled her eyes. He must have been so overjoyed to see her that when faced with a collapsing captain he could only respond with, “Whoopsie.”

“I’ll take her to her quarters, Master Vole, no need to worry,” Dasher said with a winning smile.

Buckley frowned. “I’d like to politely remind the lieutenant that Captain Aisling is a _patient_ , and therefore her quarters are with me in the infirmary.”

“Ah, no, she doesn’t need medicine, just a bit of rest.”

“How about we let the lady decide?” Aisling suggested. She turned to Buckley, leaning on Dasher for support. “I thank you heartily for services rendered, Master Buckley, but I’d rather be with the crew than on my own.”

Buckley harrumphed, but waved a hand. “Do what ya will, dearie, ‘tis not my place to argue.”

He bustled off belowdecks again, then Dasher put his arm around Aisling’s blanketed shoulders. “I think it’s time someone had a bit of a lie down.”

She snorted. “I’m not a child, Dash.”

His expression hardened for a moment. “No, Captain. Far, far from it.”


	17. A Stern Correction

Aisling dreamed.

She dreamed she stood at the top of the East Tower at Cair Paravel, her eyes on the orange horizon. It was nearly sundown, and it had been a long time since she’d stopped to admire its beauty.

But then the serene image was shattered with a scream. Aisling looked again and saw that ship upon ship filled with Lich monsters was arriving at the shore, their weapons brandished and desperate for blood. She couldn’t look away, but somehow they seemed to move faster than her eyes could follow. With growing horror, she realized the castle was about to be taken.

She felt hot breath on her back and turned to see the massive form of Aslan behind her. “What is this?” she asked, looking down at the nightmare below.

“You already know,” he said sternly. “You understand first. Why have you not spoken?”

Guilt lodged in her heart and she couldn’t look at the Lion. “Because… saying it feels like it’s that much more real.”

He gave a slight growl. “Words are power, dear one, but you have misplaced it. The Calormenes in Tashbaan dare not speak my name, but does that make me any less real? The Moles beneath the earth speak little of the sky, and yet before you stretches the vast heavens. You said nothing of your doubts for the clouds lingering over Cair Paravel, and yet this plague still came. The power in your words lies not in bringing the evil, but preventing it.”

She let out a trembling breath, watching with horror as Narnians were slaughtered far below. This was a dream, and yet it was no less terrible for it. “Is this what will happen?”

Aslan took a moment before answering, never one to speak more or less than he meant at anything other than the right time. “The future is not such a thing to be watched as the past. It _might_ be, and it yet might _not_ be. Speak with your kings. You have no reason to tremble while I am here.” Leaning forward, he let his nose touch the pendant around her neck. She understood. Then, he stepped back and let loose a mighty roar that shocked her into wakefulness. 

So flustered was she that she found herself battling with the hammock and blankets, eventually losing the battle and being deposited on the shifting floor. 

“Captain?” said Dasher sleepily, sitting up in his hammock with the corner of his blanket caught on one horn. 

“Topside,” she barked tightly before scrambling up to the deck. The moon shone down on all, and she hadn’t realized that moonlight would make her nervous until now. 

“Ca-Aisling?”

King Peter was looking up at her in confusion. He and King Edmund were seated amidst coils of rope, speaking softly to one another, but at her interruption, they both looked concerned. 

“All well?” asked the Hedgehog who was on watch at the fore.

Aisling dashed to the starboard side of the ship, staring out over the horizon. Nothing.

Yet.

“It’s not over,” she told the kings.

“Pray beg your pardon?” Peter asked.

She turned to them. “I’m sorry. I should have talked about it, I realize that time is a very limited thing we have and we shouldn’t squander it.”

“What ever are you on about?” Edmund asked, getting to his feet.

“The Lich aren’t gone, sir. We destroyed one boat, maybe. He said he had an army. Me wonders where the others might be.”

The brothers looked at one another with growing alarm. “Are you certain?” Peter asked.

She shifted uncomfortably. “Aslan just confirmed it.” 

The way she shifted, instead of holding her head up, immediately alerted the kings that she had done something she oughtn’t have. But they had little time to dwell on transgressions that had already been corrected by the Great Lion.

“Have you any idea when they’ll come?” Edmund asked.

“Other than soon? No, my king.” She continued studying the horizon, as though she would see a fleet coming at any second. “He said he only has twenty ships. We should be more than a match for them.”

“Let’s see to it that we are,” Edmund said with determination. He strode over to the captain’s cabin, knocking on the door. In moments, the sleepy Otter poked his head out. He snapped to attention in a trice.

“Majesty?”

“Have you any messengers aboard this ship, Captain?” Edmund demanded.

The Otter looked around, his shiny brow furrowed. “Aye, sir, we’ve got Nettle and Twit, couple o’ fine Bats.”

The king’s eyes lit up. “Excellent. Take me to them.”

Aisling clung to the bulwark, watching what was happening with wary eyes. It took her a moment to realize she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to laugh and say, “We’ll do this in the morning,” or, “Nay, Aisling, we saw the ship burn,” but none of that happened. For the first time, the kings were taking their overly paranoid guard seriously. And, for the first time, they really needed to.

“Did Aslan say anything else?” Peter asked quietly.

She fought to not look away. “No, sire. He said nothing I didn’t already know.”

The High King nodded and took his leave, graciously saying nothing of her mistake. It had been corrected, and not too late. There was no reason to speak of it. She thought again of the gentleness and wisdom of her king, with a healthy warrior’s spirit burning beneath, and her appreciation for him was renewed. Aslan never was known to be wrong.

“So I suppose sleep did you some good, then?” Dasher said quizzically, having finally managed to disentangle himself from his bedding. 

She sighed. “All depends on perspective, I suppose.” She turned to him. “Tell me of your adventures, Dash. What happened after you leaped from the boat?”

He smiled slightly and moved to join her at the bulwark. “I swam for shore, which was quite a swim, but a few lovely Mermaids helped my progress.”

She snorted. “I’m sure they did.”

“I washed up on land, so exhausted that I was hardly even aware of my surroundings.”

“Except, of course, for the Mermaids.”

“Well, of course. When I did finally manage to get back up, I trotted along the shoreline. I knew, you see, that the _Lionheart_ was still searching for the _Misery_ , and so I thought I might try to find her. I asked a few of those lovely Mermaids to assist in the search, and then they reported back when they found it. They told the crew to wait, brought me to the boat, then I pointed them in the direction of the _Misery_ and here we are.”

“Here we are,” she echoed. She stared out over the water still watching as though an armada would come at any moment. “I don’t want to fight a war.”

“Only fools do.”

“But we’ll be ready.”

“Always.”

She turned away from the side and moved to join the kings in the captain’s cabin. “Let us see what home brings.”


	18. A Chink in the Armor

“As far as we know, they have twenty and we have fifty,” King Edmund said, moving small figures about on a map of Narnia. “But, as we know, numbers alone do not win a battle.” 

“I’d say being undead trumps greater numbers,” said Shinja, Tiger captain of the Cats. 

“Although they are not immune to fire, of which we have an abundance on each ship,” said Oreius.

Edmund frowned, staring at the board and rubbing his sore arm. They’d been having this conversation for an hour and it seemed, from several sides, that the Narnians would claim victory. But if there was one thing he was sure about, it was to not trust the situation when it seemed too simple.

“We’re missing something,” he murmured for the third time that meeting. “Where are the Gulls?”

“Last saw them perched on Rudder Cliff, sir,” said Captain Roule. 

“Good, they’re on land. Also.”

A Crow alighted on the table, ruffling his dark feathers. “What?” he croaked.

“Tell the Gulls to scout for the Lich armada and to bring back reports of anything they find.”

With an irritated little growl, Also took wing and flew out the window. 

“Gulls, brother?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow. “They have hardly enough concentration to catch fish.”

“You exaggerate, brother,” Edmund replied. “And, rest assured, if they _do_ find anything, we’ll have every single one of them in here squawking about it.”

“Dogs of the air,” the High King chuckled. 

Edmund looked at him strangely. “How can you be so lighthearted about all of this?”

He shrugged slightly. “I just don’t believe they’ll win.”

It was such a simple answer that the younger king simply accepted it for a moment. Then, doubts began to worm their way in, skepticism for Peter’s blind faith. But it wasn’t, not really. His faith couldn’t be blind, not after all they’d been through and not after seeing the might of Aslan with their own eyes. Narnia would not be overrun. Not by the likes of the Lich King.

The door opened and a Striped Hyena poked his head in. “Sires, Queen Susan requests entrance to the council chambers.”

“Bid her come in and tell her she need not ask,” Peter said.

The Hyena disappeared, and a moment later they heard the queen before they actually saw her. “...making certain I wasn’t interrupting anything important,” she said with uncharacteristic agitation. 

“What’s the matter, Su?” Edmund asked, picking up on this instantly.

She looked at her brothers across the table. The happiness of the reunion hadn’t lasted long, as Susan had immediately proceeded to chastise her younger brother for his folly, and then war preparations had started up just after that. “Oreius and I looked through the library for anything that could help us in this dire matter. We did discover the identity of our foe, and through that, we found his weakness.”

The kings’ eyes grew wide, as did those of the officers around them, and they unconsciously leaned in. “Well, go on, then,” Peter said, waving a hand. “By your leave, sister.”

“The Lich King is the result of a powerful wizard who wanted to achieve immortality. He bound his soul to his corpse with magic of the darkest kind and cannot be killed until the bindings have been broken.”

Edmund’s brow furrowed. “So… do we need to learn magic?”

She shook her head. “He is bound through an object. With him he carries what is called a _phylactery_ , and until that is destroyed, he will continue to live and control the undead.”

He felt his heart lift. A phylactery! There was a chance at killing the blasted thing after all! “Pete, when you were on the ship, was there anything you saw the Lich have that never left his sight?”

The High King’s face was screwed up in concentration. “Coat, hat… but those things don’t last forever….” His eyes widened. “The sword. He has a silver sword with green jewels. He used it to kill one of his crewmen when I was there.”

“And it made all the others stop fighting,” Edmund recalled. “That must be the source of his magic.”

“Edmund, have you Shafelm, destroyer of weapons?”

“I have Shafelm III, and it is longing for true battle.”

“Then sharpen the blade, brother, for its wishes will soon be realized.” Peter took Susan by the shoulder, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Thank Aslan for blessing us with such an intelligent sister and wise general. I pray thee stay back from the battle.”

“I will do as you ask, Peter.” She gave a nod of respect, then allowed him to sweep past her out of the room. 

For a moment, all were quiet. Then Edmund said, “Where did he just go?”

Susan looked surprised. “You didn’t want him to leave?”

“I didn’t know he was going to.”

“It did add a bit of climax to the moment,” said Shinja with a purr of amusement. 

Roule made a noise of disagreement. “Like as not he’s gone to Oreius or the library for more information."

"Or to visit Lady Ilana," Susan said with a slight smile. "She never returned to the Western Wood, you know. She decided to stay until we were sure Peter was safe."

For some reason, that struck a sour note with Edmund. He frowned at the door, not quite sure why he was uncomfortable with the idea of his brother seeing a lovely lady. Perhaps, once he met her, he wouldn't feel so doubtful. "Let's get back to it, then," he said after a moment. "I'll inform Peter later if we make any new plans." 

\----

Aisling's foot itched like the devil, but she couldn't remove her boot to dispense of the mud until she'd made it into the castle. Dasher wasn't having much of a better time, pulling briars from his curls as he clopped along.

"You're too kind for doing this, Lorry," she said to the Donkey beneath her, who was similarly coated in muck. 

"If Narnia's in danger, I'll help where I can, even if 'tis only to ease the feet of the guard captain," he said stolidly. 

"And our journey ends at the steps," Dasher said, pausing at the base of the castle stairs. "Thanks once more, friend. We'll be sure to send someone to look into that hovel of yours."

The Donkey gave as good a shrug as he could manage. "Do or don't, Lieutenant, 'twasn't the reason I went about this. Aslan's Light upon ye."

"And you as well, Lorry." Aisling nodded in farewell, then took her lieutenant up the stairs and into the castle. On their way to the strategy room, they were quickly waylaid by servants who were absolutely mollified by the amount of filth on the two guards. Before either could be swept away to the washrooms, however, they were rescued by the kings.

"Ah, Captain!" Peter called, hurrying down the hall. "Just in time!"

"We desperately need to speak with you," Edmund said, hinting rather heavily that the servants ought to leave off. They did, if a bit sullenly, and the two guards were taken back to the strategy room. "How went the campaign?" asked the Just King.

Aisling sighed. "Those along the coast and in the marsh have been ordered to put up any defenses they can. We've left several builders and soldiers in Glass Water to help with the effort. And I _sincerely_ doubt the Marshwiggles will have any trouble."

I concur," Dasher said pointedly.

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Good. And here, we've discovered that the Lich King does, indeed, have a weakness."

Aisling's eyes lit up. "Well, by your leave, sire," she said, if a bit impatiently.

"His sword. It holds his power, his grip on life," Edmund said. "If we destroy that, we destroy him and his army."

"Oh, good. All we have to do is snap an enchanted sword in half. No trouble there," said Dasher. 

"It's not impossible, Lieutenant," said Edmund.

"But you, sire, are the only one with any record of destroying enchanted weapons."

Peter nodded with a slight smile. "The Faun makes a fair point."

Edmund made a face. "It isn't as though it's a learned _talent_. You swing as hard as you can and, for the love of Aslan, be accurate about it." 

"But what do we do now?" Aisling asked. "We know his weakness, yes, but where is he?"

"Ah, we have the Gulls seeing to that," Peter said.

She raised an eyebrow. "The _Gulls_?"

"Ed's idea."

She looked to the Just king. "And you scolded me for letting the Bears prepare the chandelier."

"They'll at least deliver the information," he retorted.

Shaking her head, the captain approached the map table and considered the arrangement of figures. The navy had been placed along the coast, and it seemed that someone had alerted Archenland, for figures had been placed at the border as a heavy guard. The inlet at Glasswater Creek was also being monitored so no one could slip inside without warning. After the initial surprise invasion, Narnia seemed well prepared for the next attack. "It looks as though we're already winning," she said.

"I wish people would stop saying that," Edmund muttered. 

"Ah, sire," said Roule, who had been standing at the window. He gave the king a bit of a cheeky grin, something Otters were famously good at. "Your dogs have arrived."

Both kings appeared confused, then, faintly, a chorus of squawking could be heard. After only a moment, the faint sound rose to a din. Aisling moved to go to the window, but Peter held her arm. "You'll be wanting to stay clear," he said.

And then they were all in the room at the same time. Dozens of white, feathery, flapping creatures, shouting and pushing and vying for attention, knocking everything to and fro. Shinja, Roule, and Dasher fiercely guarded the map table so that none of the idiot birds would destroy the hard work put into it.

"Brilliant plan, sire!" Aisling said as she covered her face.

"I wasn't expecting them all at once!" Edmund replied.

"A hundred of them!"

"Black as night, black as night I say!"

"Too many t'count! Right fillin' the seas!"

Peter seized one of the Gulls by a leg and pulled it down to his level. "Speak clearly, cousin! What did you see?"

"Hundred o' ships!" the Gull cried. "So many, sire, they filled the horizon!"

"He could be exaggerating," Dasher said.

In an effort to restore calm, Shinja bared her teeth, scruff standing on end, and let rip a yowl that sent shivers down the Humans' spines. The Birds, duly terrified, slammed into one another in their haste to escape out the window. Peter was forced to release the one he held, but there was no need for it any longer. A ruffled black shape tumbled out of the cloud of white and landed on the floor, then rolled to its feet and glared around at those assembled.

"Also," Edmund said with relief. "Bring some sense to this room."

The Crow seemed to have the most dislike for the Just king at the moment. "Those damned Birds - _yaah_ \- have tiny brains, but eyes that are large enough. What they speak is the truth."

Edmund paled, as did Peter. "How?" the High King asked. "Those Gulls said there were a hundred ships."

"There are," Also croaked. "They sail here from the East - _yaah._ Their army has expanded to suit their needs."

"He said it couldn't be done, that he only had twenty ships," Peter said to Edmund. "How could he go from twenty to one hundred in under a sennight?" 

"I - I don't know, he needed blood from one of us," Edmund said, equally as uncomfortably baffled. 

Aisling looked between the kings, then her eyes fell on the way Edmund was rubbing at his injured arm. "He got the blood," she said, gingerly pulling at his elbow. "We just didn't notice."

Edmund stared down at the injury, going, if possible, even paler. "No," he whispered. "No, it can't be."

"How close are they?" Dasher demanded.

"Nearly eighty leagues - _yaah_ ," said the Crow.

"We have some time, then," Aisling told the kings.

"Time for what?" said Also snappishly. "To build a hundred more ships for your fleet? You have _no_ time, Captain - _yaah_ \- you have only your Narnians."

Peter gave the Crow as close to a cold look as he'd ever mustered. "That's served us well in the past, cousin. Have you forgotten our history so soon?"

"Beruna was on land where your legs stand strong. The King of the Lich fights on water where your legs are unwelcome. Create your Narnian wall there and see how well it stands - _yaah_."

"Out!" Aisling snapped, shooing at the Bird with rather poor manners. "Your services have ended, you may take your leave."

Also clacked his beak in agitation, but he began to hop back towards the window. The captain made sure he flew away before turning back to the kings. Neither seemed as hopeful as Peter had sounded a moment ago. Aisling knew there wasn't much hope to have, but to see the rulers so shocked and despondent was a crime. "They're not going to win," she said, desperately forcing herself to believe her own words. "They're not."

"They won't," Peter agreed, though his voice was quiet.

She nodded fiercely. "Right. Then we had best prepare," she said as she strode from the room.


End file.
